about 10 p.m.
Oh , how cosy and bright the little cabin looked when I settled down for a nondescript meal , half-tea , half-dinner , about an hour later ! The lamp , hung from the deck above , gave a mellow light , the kettle sang on the stove , and the fresh-caught whiting were simply delicious -LRB- I pride myself on my cooking on these occasions -RRB- , whilst London , work , and my fellow-beings seemed far away in some other sphere . This feeling of isolation was considerably increased later on , when , after a hearty meal and a dip into a story , I put my head out of the hatch to take a customary `` last look round '' before turning in . I suppose it was about 10 p.m. ; there was no moon , and I never remember a denser fog . At first , after the lighted cabin , I could distinguish absolutely nothing , except where the beam of light from the cabin lamp struggled past me through the open hatch into a white thickness which I can only liken to vaporous cotton-wool . Even when my eyes got a little accustomed to the change from light to darkness , I could only just make out the mizzen-mast astern and the lower part of the main-mast forward ; beyond these was nothing but impenetrable thickness . Not a sound reached me , except the mournful muffled hooting of a steamer 's syren at intervals ; no doubt some wretched collier , nosing her way at half-speed through the fog , in momentary terror of collision .