I would rather see clouds of spray driving past swelling sails, than feel my way through a nasty fog.

Give me a sea as high as a masthead, compact as a wall, and charging with the level swiftness of a horse regiment, and I would rather take a ship through it, than make her cut her way through a thick, black fog, as if she was a knife.

In a storm you see what you are doing, and where you are going, but you hev to steal and creep and sneak through a fog, and never know what trap or hole may be ahead of you.

I know the sea in all her ways and moods, sir.

Some of them are rather trying.