About four o'clock in the afternoon
I saw no one all day , and there was little shipping about . A private wherry anchored opposite the village above the _ Thelma _ was the only craft in the river , and a few trawlers and coasting steamers far out were the only vessels to be seen at sea . Nothing could have less suggested the likelihood of anything in the shape of `` adventure , '' and I caught my whiting and dabs in blissful peace of mind . About four o'clock in the afternoon , however , I was roused from my fishing by feeling the air suddenly begin to get chill , and on looking out to sea saw that a breeze was springing up from the eastward , and bringing with it a bank of thick white sea-fog , which had already blotted out the horizon , and was coming in rapidly . This meant rowing home as quickly as possible , as I did not want to be caught in the `` thick '' before reaching my temporary home , as it might mean an hour or two 's search for such a small yacht in a half-mile wide estuary . So , hastily laying aside my fishing-tackle and hauling up the little anchor , I put my back into the task of `` racing the fog , '' feeling intensely thankful that the tide was on the flood , and , therefore , an immense help to me . Even as it was , I was in a glowing heat by the time I reached the _ Thelma _ , and only just in time at that , as the first chilly wreaths of mist were closing round me by the time I got on board .