Books: Lost in the Fog
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James De Mille >> Lost in the Fog
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"Help, he-e-e-e-e-lp! Mas'r Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-art! O, Mas'r Ba-a-
a-a-a-a-a-a-a-art! He-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-lp! Sa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-
a-a-a-a-a-ave me!"
"Hurrah! hurrah!" cried Bart and Bruce, in a burst of heartfelt
joy.
"He-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-lp!" came forth once more from Solomon.
"All right," cried Bart; and at once the boat pointed towards the
place where Solomon was sitting. The water nearer the shore was
somewhat rough, but fortunately there were no rocks just there, and
they were able to bring the boat in close to the place where
Solomon was confined. At their approach Solomon moved slowly down
the incline of the rock, on his hands and knees, for there was not
room for him to stand upright; and as he moved he pushed the basket
before him, as though there was something inside of uncommon value.
Reaching, at length, a spot where the rock was about the level of
the boat, he waited for them to approach. Soon the boat touched
the rock.
"Come, old Sol," cried Bart, "jump in!"
"Hyah, take hole ob dis yar," said Solomon, even in that moment of
rescue refusing to move till his precious basket should be safe.
Bart grasped it, and put it into the boat, noticing, as he did so,
that it was full of lobsters.
"Come, Solomon, hurry up. I don't like the boat to be knocking
here this way."
"All right, sah," said Solomon, crawling along rather stiffly; "ben
tied up in a knot all day, an feel so stiff dat I don't know as
I'll git untied agin fur ebber mo. Was jest makin my will, any
way, as you came along."
By this time Solomon had tumbled into the boat, and worked his way
aft, though not without many groans.
"It's de cold rocks, an de wet," he groaned. "Sech an attack o'
rheumaticses as dis ole nigga's gwine to hab beats all! Any how, I
ben an sabed de lobsta. Loss me ole hat, but didn't car a mite fer
dat so long as I sabed de lobsta."
"All right," cried Bart; and at this the two boys pulled away from
the rocks and rounded the point. As they came into the sight of
those who were waiting on the top of the cliff, a shout of joy
arose.
XV.
Exploring Juan Fernandez.--The Cliffs.--The tangled Underbrush.--
The Fog Bank.--Is it coming or going?--The Steamer.--Vain Appeals.--
New Plans.
Starting off, as we have seen, to explore the island, Tom first
directed his steps towards the elevated land which has before been
mentioned. At first his path was easy, and the descent very
gradual; but at length it became more difficult, and he had to
ascend a steep hill, which was over-strewn with stones and
interspersed with trees and mounds. Up among these he worked his
way, and at length the ascent ceased. He was on the summit of the
island. Here he walked to the edge of the area on which he stood,
and found himself on the edge of a precipice that went sheer down
to a beach, which was apparently two hundred feet beneath him. The
precipice seemed actually to lean forward out of the perpendicular,
and so tremendous was the view beneath, that Tom, although not by
any means inclined to be nervous, found his head grow giddy as he
looked down. Looking forth thus from his dizzy elevation, he could
see across the bay to the New Brunswick shore, and could mark the
general course which his drifting boat must have taken over those
deep, dark, and treacherous waters.
The sea was broad, and blue, and tranquil, and desolate, for even
from this commanding height not a sail was visible. There was
nothing here which could attract Tom's attention for any long
period; so he prepared to continue his progress. In front of him
lay a wood, before plunging in which he turned to see if there were
any vessels coming through the Straits of Minas. None were
visible; so, turning back once more, he resumed his journey, and
went forward among the trees.
His path now became a difficult one. It was necessary to keep away
from the edge of the cliff, but still not to go out of sight of it.
The trees were principally spruce and fir, but there were also
birch and maple. He also noticed mountain ash and willow. Beneath
him all the ground was covered with soft moss, in which he sank to
his ankles, while on every side were luxuriant ferns and evergreen
trailers. Tom recognized all these with great satisfaction, for
they showed him the means of furnishing for himself a soft couch,
that might be envied by many a man in better circumstances.
Progress soon grew more difficult, for there were numerous mounds,
and dense underbrush, through which he could only force his way by
extreme effort. Windfalls also lay around in all directions, and
no sooner would he have fairly surmounted one of them, than another
would appear. Thus his progress was exceedingly slow and
laborious.
After about a half an hour of strenuous exertion, Tom found himself
in the midst of an almost impassable jungle of tangled, stunted fir
trees. He tried to avoid these by making a detour, but found that
they extended so far that he could only pass them by going along
close to the edge of the cliff. This last path he chose, and
clinging to the branches, he passed for more than a hundred yards
along the crest of a frightful precipice, where far down there
yawned an abyss, at whose bottom was the sea; while abreast of him
in the air there floated great flocks of gulls, uttering their
hoarse yells, and fluttering fiercely about, as though trying to
drive back this intruder upon their domains. Once or twice Tom was
compelled to stop, and turn away his face from the abyss, and
thrust himself in among the trees; but each time he regained his
courage, after a little rest, and went on as before.
At length he passed the thick spruce underbrush, and found the
woods less dense. He could now work his way among them without
being compelled to go so close to the edge of the cliff; and the
dizzy height and the shrieks of the gulls no longer disturbed his
senses. The trees here were not so high as those at the other end
of the island, but were of much smaller size, and seemed stunted.
There were no maples or other forest trees, but only scraggy fir,
that seemed too exposed to the winds from the sea to have much
health or verdure. The underbrush was wanting to a great extent,
but moss was here in large quantities, and thick clusters of alder
bushes. Wild shrubs also--such as raspberries and blueberries--
were frequently met with; while ledges of weather-beaten rock
jutted out from amid thick coverings of moss.
Walking here was not at all difficult, and he went on without any
interruption, until, at last, he found any farther progress barred
by a precipice. He was at the lower or western end of the island.
He looked down, and found beneath him a great precipice, while
rocks jutted out from the sea, and ledges projected beyond. The
gulls were present here, as elsewhere, in great flocks, and still
kept up their noisy screams.
Tom looked out over the sea, and saw its waters spread far away
till it was lost in the horizon. On the line of that horizon he
saw a faint gray cloud, that looked like a fog bank. It had, to
his eyes, a certain gloomy menace, and seemed to say to him that he
had not seen the last of it yet. On the left of the broad sea, the
Nova Scotia Coast ran along till it was lost in the distance; and
on the right was the long line of the New Brunswick shore, both of
which had now that dark hue of olive green which he had noticed on
the land opposite before he had started.
Suddenly, while he was looking, his eyes caught sight of something
white that glistened brightly from the blue water. It was about
midway between the two coasts, and he knew it at once to be some
sailing vessel. He could not make out more than one sail, and that
showed that the vessel was either coming up the bay or going down;
for if it had been crossing, she would, of course, have lain
broadside on to his present locality, and would have thus displayed
two sails to his view. The sight of this vessel agitated him
exceedingly; and the question about her probable course now entered
his mind, and drove away all other thoughts. Whether that vessel
were going up or down became of exclusive importance to him now, if
she were coming up, she might approach him, and hear his hail, or
catch sight of his signals. Suddenly he reflected that he had no
way of attracting attention, and a wild desire of running back and
setting up the longest pole or board that he could find came into
his mind; but such was the intensity of his curiosity, and the
weight of his suspense, that he could not move from the spot where
he was until he had satisfied himself as to the vessel's course.
He sat down not far from the edge of the precipice, and, leaning
forward with his hands supporting his chin, he strained his eyes
over the intervening distance, as he tried to make out in which way
the vessel was going. It seemed fully ten miles away, and her hull
was not visible. It was only the white of her sails that he saw;
and as the sunlight played on these from time to time, or fell off
from the angle of reflection, the vessel was alternately more or
less visible, and thus seemed by turns to draw nearer and depart
farther from his sight.
Thus for a long time he sat, alternately hoping and desponding, at
every play of those sails in the sunlight. The calm of the water
showed him that, even if the vessel were coming up, he could not
expect any very rapid progress. There was now no wind, and the
surface of the water was perfectly unruffled. Besides, he knew
that the tide was falling rapidly. How, then, could he expect that
the vessel could come any nearer, even if she were trying to?
Thoughts like these at last made him only anxious to keep the
vessel in sight. If her destination lay up the bay, she would
probably anchor; if it lay down the bay, she would drift with the
tide. He thought, then, that if she only would remain in sight, it
would be a sufficient proof of her course.
Thus he sat, watching and waiting, with all his soul intent upon
those flashing sails, and all his thoughts taken up with the
question as to the course of that solitary bark. It seemed a long
time to him, in his suspense; but suspense always makes time seem
long. At last, however, even though he hoped so persistently for
the best, his hope began to die within him. Fainter and fainter
grew those sails; at intervals rarer and rarer did their flash come
to his eyes, until at length the sight of them was lost altogether,
and nothing met his eyes but the gloomy gray of the fog cloud on
the far horizon.
Even after he had lost hope, and become convinced that she was
gone, Tom sat there for a long time, in a fixed attitude, looking
at that one spot. He would have sat there longer, but suddenly
there came to his ears a peculiar sound, which made him start to
his feet in a moment, and filled him with a new excitement.
He listened.
The sound came again.
A flush of joy spread over his face, his heart beat faster and
faster, and he listened as though he could scarce believe his
senses.
As he listened, the sounds came again, and this time much louder.
There was now no mistake about it. It was a regular boat, which
Tom knew well to be the peculiar sound made by the floats of a
steamer's paddles. He had often heard it. He had but recently
heard it, when the revenue steamer was approaching the Antelope,
and again during the foggy night, when the whistle roused them, and
the same beat of the paddles came over the midnight waters.
And now, too, he heard it.
He gave a shout of joy, and started off to catch sight of her.
For a few paces only he ran, and then stopped.
He was puzzled. He did not know in which direction it was best to
go. He was at the west end of the island, but could not make out
very well the direction of the sounds. He tried to think whether
the steamer would pass the island on the north side or the south.
He did not know, but it seemed to him that she would certainly go
to the north of it. There was no time to be lost, and standing
there to listen did not seem to be of any use, even if his
impatience had allowed him to do so. Accordingly he hurried back
by the way that he had come along the north side of the island.
For some time he ran along through the trees, and at length, in
about fifteen or twenty minutes, he reached the place where the
dense underbrush was, by the edge of the cliff. From this point a
wide view was commanded. On reaching it he looked out, and then up
the bay, towards the Straits of Minas. He could see almost up to
the straits, but no steamer appeared. For a moment he stood
bewildered, and then the thought came to him, that he had mistaken
altogether the steamer's course. She could not be coming down on
the north side of the island, but on the south side. With a cry of
grief he started back again, mourning over his error, and the time
that he had lost. On reaching the more open wood, he thought that
it would be better to hurry across the island to the south side,
and proceeded at once to do so. The way was rough and tedious.
Once or twice he had to burst through thickets of alder, and
several times he had to climb over windfalls. At length, in his
confusion, he lost his way altogether; he had to stop and think.
The shadows of the trees showed him where the south lay, and he
resumed his journey. At length, after most exhaustive efforts, he
reached a part of the cliff, where a fringe of alders grew so
thick, that he was scarce aware that he was at his destination,
until the precipice opened beneath him. Here he stood, and,
pressing apart the dense branches, he looked out.
There was the steamer, about two miles off, already below where he
was standing, and going rapidly down the bay with the falling tide.
Another cry of grief burst from Tom. Where he was standing he
could see the vessel, but he himself was completely concealed by
the clustering bushes. He now lamented that he had left his first
position, and saw that his only chance was to have remained there.
To stay where he was could not be thought of. There was scarce a
chance now of doing anything, since the steamer was so far away;
but what chance there was certainly depended on his being in some
conspicuous position. He started off, therefore, to the west
point, where he had watched the schooner for so long a time. He
hurried on with undiminished energy, and bounded over windfalls,
and burst through thickets, as before. But in spite of his
efforts, his progress could not be more rapid than it had formerly
been. His route was necessarily circuitous, and before he could
find the desired point, many more minutes had elapsed.
But he reached it at last, and there, on the bare rock, springing
forward, he waved his hat in the air, and sent forth a piercing cry
for help. But the steamer was now as much as four or five miles
away--too far altogether for his loudest cry to go. His screams
and his gestures did not appear to attract the slightest attention.
She moved on her way right under the eyes of the frantic and
despairing boy, nor did she change her course in the slightest
degree, nor did her paddles cease to revolve, but went rolling
round, tossing up the foam, and bearing far, far away that boat on
which poor Tom had rested his last hope.
As for Tom, he kept up his screams as long as he could utter a
sound. He tore off his coat, and shook it up and down, and waved
it backward and forward. But none of these things were heard or
seen. The steamboat passed on, until, at length, even Tom became
convinced that further efforts were useless.
This last blow was too much. Tom sank under it, and, falling on
his face, he burst into a flood of tears.
Struggling up at length from this last affliction, Tom roused
himself, and his buoyancy of soul began once more to assert itself.
"Come now, Thomas, my son," said he, as he dried his eyes, "this
sort of thing will never do, you know. You're not a baby, my boy;
you've never been given to blubbering, I think. Cheer up, then,
like a man, and don't make me feel ashamed of you."
This little address to himself had, as before, the effect of
restoring his equanimity, and he thought with calmness upon his
recent disappointments.
He saw, by the passage of these vessels, what he had for a time
lost sight of, namely, that this island, though uninhabited, was
still in the middle of a bay which was constantly traversed by
sailing vessels and steamboats. The latter ran regularly up to
the Basin of Minas from St. John. As to the former, they were
constantly passing to and fro, from the large ship down to the
small fishing vessel. Inhabited countries surrounded him on every
side, between the coasts of which there was a constant communication.
If he only kept patient, the time must come, and that, too, before
very long, when he would be delivered.
In order to secure this delivery, however, he saw that it would be
necessary to arrange some way by which he might attract the notice
of passing vessels. On this subject he meditated for a long time.
It would be necessary, he thought, to have some sort of a signal in
some conspicuous place. Among the drift-wood he might, perhaps, be
able to find some sort of a pole or staff which he could set up.
One might not be enough, but in that case he could put up two, or
three, or half a dozen.
The next thing to decide about was the choice of a place. There
was the east end, and the west end--which was the better? The west
end, where he was standing, was high; but then it was surrounded by
trees, and unless he could set up a very tall staff, it could
scarcely be noticed. The east end, on the contrary, was lower; but
then it was bare, and any kind of a signal which might be set up
there could hardly fail to attract attention. He could also pile
up a heap of drift-wood, and set fire to it, and, by this means, if
a vessel were passing by, he could be certain of securing
attention. It did not make much difference which end the signals
were placed upon, as far as referred to the passing of vessels; for
all that passed by would go along the island, so that both ends
would be visible to them.
As to the signals, he felt confident that he could find a staff,
or, if one would not be long enough, several could be fastened
together. The coil of rope in the boat would enable him to do
this. The sail would afford material for a flag.
All these plans came to his mind as he stood there; and the
prospect of once more doing something which was to help him to
escape from his prison drove away the last vestige of his grief.
His courage again arose, hope revived, and he burst forth into a
light and joyous song. Very different was he now from the
despairing lad who, but a short time before, had been pouring forth
his tears of sorrow; and yet but a few minutes had passed since
then. The steamer was yet in sight down the bay, but Tom, who had
lately been so frantic in his efforts to attract her attention, now
cast a glance after her of perfect indifference.
And now it was necessary for him to return to the east end of the
island, and look about for the means of putting into execution his
plan for making a signal.
He started off on his return without any further delay. The path
back was as rough and toilsome as the way down had been; but Tom
was now full of hope, and his elastic spirits had revived so
thoroughly that he cared but little for the fatigue of the journey.
It was traversed at last, and he descended the slope to the place
from which he had started.
His exploration of the island had been quite complete. It seemed
to him to be about a mile and a half in length, and a half a mile
or so in width. The east end, where he had first arrived, was the
only place where it was at all desirable to stay.
Immediately on his arrival he examined the boat, and found it
secure. To his surprise it was now about sunset. He had forgotten
the lapse of time. He was hungry; so he sat down, ate his biscuit,
drank his water, and rested from the toils of the day.
XVI.
A Sign for the outer World.--A Shelter for the Outcast's Head.--
Tom's Camp and Camp-bed.--A Search after Something to vary a too
monotonous Diet.--Brilliant Success.
Tom sat down after his eventful day, and took his evening meal, as
has been said. He rested then for some time. His excessive labors
had fatigued him less than the great excitement which he had
undergone, and now he felt disinclined to exert himself. But the
sun had set, and darkness was coming on rapidly; so he rose, at
last, and went over to the drift-wood. Here, after a search of
about half an hour, he found something which was very well suited
to his purpose. It was a piece of scantling about twenty feet
long, and not very thick; and to this he saw that he could fasten
the pole that he had made up in the woods. These two pieces would
make, when joined, a very good flag-staff. These he brought up to
the bank. Then he collected an armful of dry chips and sticks,
which he carried over to a spot near where the boat lay. A rock
was there, and against one side of this he built a pile of the
chips. He then tried a match, and found that it was quite dry, and
lighted it without any difficulty. With this he kindled the fire,
and soon saw, with great satisfaction, a bright and cheerful blaze.
He was so delighted with the fire that he brought up a dozen more
loads of wood, which he laid near. Then he drew up the bit of
scantling, and bringing the coil of rope, he cut a piece off, and
proceeded to fasten to the scantling the pole which he had procured
in the woods. He did this by winding the rope around in a close
and even wind; and, finally, on concluding his task, he found that
it was bound firmly enough to stand any breeze. It took a long
time to finish this; but Tom had slept late in the morning, and,
though fatigued, he was not sleepy. After this he sat down in
front of the fire, and enjoyed its friendly light and its genial
glow. He kept heaping on the fuel, and the bright flames danced
up, giving to him the first approach to anything like the feeling
of comfort that he had known since he had drifted away from the
Antelope. Nor was it comfort only that he was mindful of while he
watched and fed the fire. He saw in this fire, as it shone out
over the water, the best kind of a signal, and had some hope of
being seen and hailed by some passing vessel. In this hope he sat
up till midnight, looking out from time to time over the water, and
expecting every instant to see the shadow of some approaching
vessel.
But midnight came, and Tom at length thought of sleep. The sail
had dried thoroughly through the day; so now he used it once more
as a coverlet, and, folding himself in it, he reclined, as before,
against the mossy bank, and slept.
On awaking the next day, he arose and looked around. To his deep
disappointment, he could see nothing. There was a fog over all the
scene. The wind had changed, and his old enemy was once more
besieging him. It was not so thick, indeed, as it had been, being
light and dry, so that the ground was not at all moistened; but
still the view was obscured, so that no vessel could be seen unless
it came within half a mile; and that was rather closer than most
vessels would care to come to his island.
This day was Sunday, and all Tom's plans had to be deferred until
the following day. However, it was not at all disagreeable to him
to get rid of the necessity of work; and, indeed, never before did
he fully appreciate the nature of the Day of Rest. The rest was
sweet indeed to his exhausted and overworn frame, and he did not go
far away from his fire. He had found some embers still glowing in
the morning, and had kindled the fire anew from these, without
drawing any more upon his precious store of matches. He resolved
now to keep the coals alive all the time, by feeding the fire
during the day, and covering it up with ashes by night.
It was Sunday,--the Day of Rest,--and Tom felt all the blessedness
of rest. On the whole, it turned out to be the pleasantest day
which he had known since he left the schooner. Left now to quiet
reflection, he recalled the events of the last week, and had more
leisure to feel thankful over the wonderful safety which he had met
with. Even now on the island he was not without his comforts. He
had food and warmth. So, on the whole, though he had his moments
of sadness, yet the sadness was driven out by cheerfulness. It was
not all dismal. The words of that poem which is familiar to every
school-boy rang in his ears:--
"O, Solitude, where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms
Than reign in this horrible place."
Yet these words were accompanied and counterbalanced by the more
pleasing and consoling sentiments of others, which on this day
accorded better with Tom's mood:--
"There's mercy in every place;
And mercy--encouraging thought!--
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot."
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