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PREFACE TO A NEW EDITION the weather, that has been fine since we left New York, has thickened. The TO-DAY brisk north wind that kept the sea-line clear died away to fitful airs during the night. Fog has closed in on us and we go slowly, blindly, tapping our way by soundings of the depths, over the undersea ridges and gullies that lead on to Cape Race. Since an hour before daybreak we have seen nothing, heard nothing, of sea- neighbours or of the world beyond the limits of our bulwarks. The horizon, blurred indefinite circle of a ships length, shows little sign of ex- panding to the hard blue division of sea and sky that is at present chiefly our desire. North Atlantic weather Nine months winter and three months fog Monotonous in its persistence, the fog has yet a certain quality of variety. With the passing of a fine quiet night, came dense cloudy vapours that hung closely to the ship, shrouding the decks and ugperworks in an impenetrable pall. Roused, perhaps cheerful by benison of a sound nights rest, we were optimistic. Morning vapours, said we, as we rang slow to the engine room. The pride o th morning, no doubt 1 Huh The sun will clear this off when he has a good look at it. ., . Two hours, . t, three hours, four, . . the clouds of vapour ., . that had robbed us of our sight turned to wet mist, grey and de- pressing. Hoar formed on the awning spars and stanchions moisture trickled to the decks and soaked the planking underfoot it was time to turn up coat collars and settle caps. Scotch mist we called it, thinking hopefully of a drying up in process with the sun climbing over the mast- heads. Vain hope. Now in waning afternoonit has settled to a deep white haze and through it thetreacherous sunlight dapples and shimmers on the near sea to madden us by rousing thoughts of a clear and sunny horizon far beyond. At rare intervals, a breath of wholesome north wind blows over and routs the lingering wraiths for a brief space of time. As a diver coming up for breath, we lean a modest mile of sea around. Then the breeze dies, and the mists return. Burr-r-r-r-r-aah-oopf Strident and challenging, the bold blast of our syren thunders out in the still air- the exhaust spurting a brilliant feather of white steam to join forces with the haze. masterful compelling ear-lash The cut-off acts sharply on the sustained note. . . . aah-oop sounds like the final barking jeer in a vicious argument. The brazen cylinder ends its raucous clamour as though there is no more to be said. Alas, our argument with the elements is not readily concluded At timely intervals, the steam again throws out and up in a blinding curl Burr-r-r-r-r-aah-oop Caught up by some angle of the wheelhouse, a mocking echo carries the refrain. Eyes One might as well have no eyes. Outboard the ship there is nothing to be seen save the swell breaking at the bows as the vessel moves slowly on her course. Only ears are of use to us and the heads of the watchkeepers trim and cant, thisway and that, in our efforts to catch a whisper from beyond the curtain that enshrouds us. The tension of expectancy relaxes in time. For hours we have listened under immediate strain and no sound has come out of the fog. Sub-con- sciously, our hearing sense has been trained to an acuteness that is independent of an effort of will almost, one is become a machine with the bell set to ring at mental contact. Our eyes relieved from activeservice have liberty to rove. Debarred from a long sea-view, they focus the more sharply on the near prospect the spaces of the fore-deck where ship life has the calm and normal atmosphere of a good voyage...