"It looks like a sea fog."
But the captain made no reply.
Over the edge of the ocean hung a thin red haze. He put the glass down, and turned a troubled face to the two men.
"In other latitudes I should say that it was a gathering typhoon," he said. He took another long look, put down the telescope, closed it mechanically, and hung it in the rack.
"Smoke," he said briefly. "We are running into a fleet."
He brought the Maria Braganza's bows northward, but the smoke haze was there, too.
East, north, south, west, a great circle of smoke and the Maria Braganza trapped in the very centre.
Out of the smoke haze grey shadowy shapes, dirty grey hulls, white hulls, hulls black as pitch, loomed into view.
The captain rang his engines to "stop."
"We are caught," he said.