brick wall of the Knightsbridge Barracks. I was then to feel my way
along the wall until I came to a row of houses set back from the
sidewalk. They would bring me to a cross street. On the other side of
this street was a row of shops which I was to follow until they
joined the iron railings of Hyde Park. I was to keep to the railings
until I reached the gates at Hyde Park Corner, where I was to lay a
diagonal course across Piccadilly, and tack in toward the railings of
Green Park. At the end of these railings, going east, I would find
the Walsingham, and my own hotel.

"To a sailor the course did not seem difficult, so I bade my friend
good-night and walked forward until my feet touched the paving. I
continued upon it until I reached the curbing of the sidewalk. A few
steps further, and my hands struck the wall of the barracks. I turned
in the direction from which I had just come, and saw a square of
faint light cut in the yellow fog. I shouted, 'All right,' and the
voice of my friend answered, 'Good luck to you.' The light from his
open door disappeared with a bang, and I was left alone in a
dripping, yellow darkness. I have been in the Navy for ten years, but
I have never known such a fog as that of last night, not even among
the icebergs of Behring Sea. There one at least could see the light
of the binnacle, but last night I could not even distinguish the hand
by which I guided myself along the barrack-wall. At sea a fog is a
natural phenomenon. It is as familiar as the rainbow which follows a
storm, it is as proper that a fog should spread upon the waters as
that steam shall rise from a kettle. But a fog which springs from the
paved streets, that rolls between solid house-fronts, that forces
cabs to move at half speed, that drowns policemen and extinguishes
the electric lights of the music-hall, that to me is
incomprehensible. It is as out of place as a tidal wave on Broadway.