It was fitted with a short, stiff mast and a balance lug-sail.

It floated more lightly on the water than the bigger vessel, which was laden with coal and provender and salt for the North Atlantic fishery, and the painter hung loose, while the dinghy, tide-borne, sidled up to stern of its big companion like a kitten following its mother with the uncertain steps of infancy.
The face of the water was glassy and of a yellow green.

Although the scud swept in toward the land at a fair speed, there was not enough wind to fill the sails.

Moreover, the bounty of Holland seemed inexhaustible.
There was more to come.

This fog-bank lay on the water halfway across the North Sea, and the brief winter sun having failed to disperse it, was now sinking to the west, cold and pale.
"The water seems shallow," said Barebone to the Captain.