I was steering, and my only assistance in finding the correct way to go was watching the flight of some seagulls.
An island called Egg Island, lay on our port bow and the gulls kept flying out and back. So long as I watched them I could guess at the direction, but the island could not be seen.
Mr. Blanchet came up on deck now and then, took a compass reading and checked my course, but nobody stayed on deck as there was a heavy mist falling and the day was quite cold.
On one occasion he was just looking at his compass, when he slipped. Possibly oily
