Sometimes we could not see each other a few feet off, at others we could see pretty well what we were about on the vessel, but could see nothing beyond.
We went very slowly, and the fog lasted unusually long.

It included a Sunday, which is a blessed day to Jack at sea.

No tarring, greasing, oiling, painting, scraping or scrubbing but what is positively necessary, and no yarn-spinning but that of telling travellers' tales, which seamen aptly describe as spinning yarns.

I heard a great many that day which recalled the school-master's stories, and filled my head and heart with indefinable longings and impatience.

More and more did it seem impossible that one could live content in one little corner of this interesting world when one has eyes to see and ears to hear, and hands for work, and legs to run away with.
Not that the tales that were told on this occasion were of an encouraging nature, for they were all about fogs and ice; but they were very interesting.