eight o'clock on October 5
I asked , when we were tucked up again . ` Oh , it 's when you run aground ; you have to -- but you 'll soon learn all about it . ' I steeled my heart for the morrow . So behold us , then , at eight o'clock on October 5 , standing down the river towards the field of our first labours . It is fifteen miles to the mouth ; drab , dreary miles like the dullest reaches of the lower Thames ; but scenery was of no concern to us , and a south-westerly breeze blowing out of a grey sky kept us constantly on the verge of reefing . The tide as it gathered strength swept us down with a force attested by the speed with which buoys came in sight , nodded above us and passed , each boiling in its eddy of dirty foam . I scarcely noticed at first -- so calm was the water , and so regular were the buoys , like milestones along a road -- that the northern line of coast was rapidly receding and that the ` river ' was coming to be but a belt of deep water skirting a vast estuary , three -- seven -- ten miles broad , till it merged in open sea .