1The Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a flutter of
2the sails, and was at rest. The flood had made, the wind was nearly
3calm, and being bound down the river, the only thing for it was to come
4to and wait for the turn of the tide.

5The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of
6an interminable waterway. In the offing the sea and the sky were welded
7together without a joint, and in the luminous space the tanned sails
8of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red
9clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished sprits. A
10haze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea in vanishing flatness.
11The air was dark above Gravesend, and farther back still seemed
12condensed into a mournful gloom, brooding motionless over the biggest,
13and the greatest, town on earth.

14The Director of Companies was our captain and our host. We four
15affectionately watched his back as he stood in the bows looking to
16seaward. On the whole river there was nothing that looked half so
17nautical. He resembled a pilot, which to a seaman is trustworthiness
18personified. It was difficult to realize his work was not out there in
19the luminous estuary, but behind him, within the brooding gloom.