The air seemed to come from exactly the opposite direction to what it had previously blown, some point of east he supposed.

Labour as hard as he would, the canoe moved slowly, being so heavy.

It seemed as if the black water was thick and clung to her, retarding motion.

Still, he did move, and in time (it seemed, indeed, a time) he left the island, which disappeared in the luminous vapours.

Uncertain as to the direction, he got his compass, but it would not act; the needle had no life, it swung and came to rest, pointing any way as it chanced.