Low in the northeast horizon lay a long pale blur of light against which the bow of the steamer, inky black, rose and fell and heaved and sank incessantly.

To the landward side and very near at hand, so near that he could hear the surf at their feet, the long procession of hills continually defiled, vague and formless masses between the sea and sky.

The wind, the noise of the waves rushing past, the roll of the breakers and the groaning of the cordage all blended together and filled the air with a prolonged minor note, lamentable beyond words.

The atmosphere was cold and damp, the spray flying like icy bullets.

The sombre light that hung over the sea reflected itself in long blurred streaks upon the wet decks and slippery iron rods.