Books: Lost in the Fog
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James De Mille >> Lost in the Fog
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What could be done in such a situation? He could swim, but of what
avail was that? In what direction could he swim, or what progress
could he make, with such a tide? As to paddling, he thought of
that no more; paddling was exhausted, and his board was useless.
Nothing remained, apparently, but inaction. Inaction was indeed
hard, and it was the worst condition in which he could be placed,
for in such a state the mind always preys upon itself; in such a
state trouble is always magnified, and the slow time passes more
slowly. Yet to this inaction he found himself doomed.
He floated on now for hours, motionless and filled with despair,
listening to the dash of the waves, which were the only sounds that
came to his ears. And so it came to pass, in process of time, that
by incessant attention to these monotonous sounds, they ceased to
be altogether monotonous, but seemed to assume various cadences and
intonations. His sharpened ears learned at last to distinguish
between the dash of large waves and the plash of small ones, the
sighing of the wind, the pressure of the waters against the boat's
bows, and the ripple of eddies under its stern. Worn out by
excitement and fatigue, he lay motionless, listening to sounds like
these, and taking in them a mournful interest, when suddenly, in
the midst of them, his ears caught a different cadence. It was a
long, measured sound, not an unfamiliar one, but one which he had
often heard--the gathering sound which breaks out, rising and
accumulating upon the ear, as the long line of surf falls upon some
rocky shore. He knew at once what this was, and understood by it
that he was near some shore; but what shore it might be he could
not know. The sound came up from his right, and therefore might be
the New Brunswick coast, if the boat had preserved its proper
position. But the position of the boat had been constantly
changing as she drifted along, so that it was impossible to tell
whether he was drifting stern foremost or bow foremost. The water
moved as the boat moved, and there was no means by which to judge.
He listened to the surf, therefore, but made no attempt to draw
nearer to it. He now knew perfectly well that with his present
resources no efforts of his could avail anything, and that his only
course would be to wait. Besides, this shore, whatever it was,
must be very different, he thought, from the banks of the
Petitcodiac. It was, as he thought, an iron-bound shore. And the
surf which he heard broke in thunder a mile away, at the foot of
giant precipices, which could only offer death to the hapless
wretch who might be thrown among them. He lay, therefore,
inactive, listening to this rolling surf for hours. At first it
grew gradually louder, as though he was approaching it; but
afterwards it grew fainter quite as gradually, until at length it
could no longer be heard.
During all these lonely hours, one thing afforded a certain
consolation, and that was, the discovery that the sea did not grow
rougher. The wind that blew was the sou-wester, the dreaded wind
of fog and, storm; but on this occasion its strength was not put
forth; it blew but moderately, and the water was not very greatly
disturbed. The sea tossed the little boat, but was not high enough
to dash over her, or to endanger her in any way. None of its spray
ever came upon the recumbent form in the boat, nor did any moisture
come near him, save that which was deposited by the fog. At first,
in his terror, he had counted upon meeting a tempestuous sea; but,
as the hours passed, he saw that thus far there had been nothing of
the kind, and, if he were destined to be exposed to such a danger,
it lay as yet in the future. As long as the wind continued
moderate, so long would he toss over the little waves without being
endangered in any way. And thus, with all these thoughts,
sometimes depressing, at other times rather encouraging, he drifted
on.
Hours passed away.
At length his fatigue overpowered him more and more, and as he sat
there in the stern, his eyes closed, and his head fell heavily
forward. He laid it upon the sail which was in front of him, so as
to get an easier position, and was just closing his eyes again,
when a sound came to his ears which in an instant drove every
thought of sleep and of fatigue away, and made him start up and
listen with intense eagerness.
It was the sound of a fog horn, such as is used by coasting
vessels, and blown during a fog, at intervals, to give warning of
their presence. The sound was a familiar one to a boy who had been
brought up on the fog-encircled and fish-haunted shores of
Newfoundland; and Tom's hearing, which had been almost hushed in
slumber, caught it at once. It was like the voice of a friend
calling to him. But for a moment he thought it was only a fancy,
or a dream, and he sat listening and quivering with excitement. He
waited and listened for some time, and was just about to conclude
that it was a dream, when suddenly it came again. There was no
mistake this time. It was a fog horn. Some schooner was sailing
these waters. O for day-light, and O for clear weather, so that he
might see it, and make himself seen! The sound, though clear, was
faint, and the schooner was evidently at a considerable distance;
but Tom, in his eagerness, did not think of that. He shouted with
all his strength. He waited for an answer, and then shouted again.
Once more he waited, and listened, and then again and again his
screams went forth over the water. But still no response came. At
last, after some interval, the fog horn again sounded. Again Tom
screamed, and yelled, and uttered every sound that could possibly
convey to human ears an idea of his presence, and of his distress.
The sounds of the fog horn, however, did not correspond with his
cries. It was blown at regular intervals, which seemed painfully
long to Tom, and did not seem to sound as if in answer to him. At
first his hope was sustained by the discovery that the sounds were
louder, and therefore nearer; but scarcely had he assured himself
of this, when he perceived that they were growing fainter again, as
though the schooner had approached him, and then sailed away. This
discovery only stimulated him to more frantic exertions. He yelled
more and more loudly, and was compelled, at last, to cease from
pure exhaustion. But even then he did not cease till long after
the last notes of the departing fog horn had faintly sounded in his
ears.
It was a disappointment bitter indeed, since it came after a
reviving hope. What made it all the worse was a fixed idea which
he had, that the schooner was no other than the Antelope. He felt
confident that she had come at once after him, and was now
traversing the waters in search of him, and sounding the horn so as
to send it to his ears and get his response. And his response had
been given with this result! This was the end of his hopes. He
could bear it no longer. The stout heart and the resolute
obstinacy which had so long struggled against fate now gave way
utterly. He buried his face in his hands, and burst into a passion
of tears.
He wept for a long time, and roused himself, at last, with
difficulty, to a dull despair. What was the use of hoping, or
thinking, or listening? Hope was useless. It was better to let
himself go wherever the waters might take him. He reached out his
hand and drew the sail forward, and then settling himself down in
the stern of the boat, he again shut his eyes and tried to sleep.
But sleep, which a short time before had been so easy, was now
difficult. His ears took in once more the different sounds of the
sea, and soon became aware of a deeper, drearer sound than any
which had hitherto come to him. It was the hoarse roar of a great
surf, far more formidable than the one which he had heard before.
The tumult and the din grew rapidly louder, and at length became
so terrific that he sat upright, and strained his eyes in the
direction from which it came. Peering thus through the darkness,
he saw the glow of phosphorescent waves wrought out of the strife
of many waters; and they threw towards him, amid the darkness, a
baleful gleam which fascinated his eyes. A feeling came to him now
that all was over. He felt, as though he were being sucked into
some vortex, where Death lay in wait for him. He trembled. A
prayer started to his lips, and burst from him. Suddenly his boat
seemed caught by some resistless force, and jerked to one side; the
next instant it rose on some swelling wave, and was shot swiftly
forward. Tom closed his eyes, and a thrill of horror passed
through every nerve. All at once a rude shock was felt, and the
boat shook, and Tom thought he was going down. It seemed like the
blow of a rock, and he could think only of the ingulfing waters.
But the waters hesitated to claim their prey; the rushing motion
ceased; and soon the boat was tossing lightly, as before, over the
waves, while the hoarse and thunderous roar of those dread unseen
breakers, from which he had been so wondrously saved, arose
wrathfully behind, as though they were howling after their escaped
victim. A cry of gratitude escaped Tom, and with trembling lips he
offered a heart-felt prayer to that divine Power whose mighty hand
had just rescued him from a terrible doom.
Tom's agitation had been so great that it was long before he could
regain his former calm. At last, however, his trembling subsided.
He heard no longer the howling surf. All was calm and quiet. The
wind ceased, the boat's motion was less violent, the long-resisted
slumber came once more to his eyes. Still his terror kept off
sleep, and as his eyes would close, they would every moment open
again, and he would start in terror and look around.
At length he saw that the darkness was less profound. Light was
coming, and that light was increasing. He could see the dark
waters, and the gloomy folds of the enclosing mist became apparent.
He gave a heavy sigh, partly of terror at the thought of all that
he had gone through, and partly of relief at the approach of light.
Well might he sigh, for this light was the dawn of a new day, and
showed him that he had been a whole night upon the waters.
And now he could no longer struggle against sleep. His eyes closed
for the last time. His head fell forward on the wet sail.
He was sound asleep.
VII.
Lost in the Fog.--The Shoal and its Rocks.--Is it a Reef?--The
Truth.--Hoisting Sail.--A forlorn Hope.--Wild Steering.--Where am
I?--Land, ho!
Tom slept for many hours; and when he at length awoke, he was
stiffened in every limb, and wet to the skin. It was his
constrained position and the heavy fog which had done this. He sat
up and looked around with a bewildered air; but it did not take a
long time for him to collect his wandering faculties, and arrive at
the full recollection of his situation. Gradually it all came
before him--the night of horror, the long drift, the frantic
struggles, the boom of the surf, the shrill, penetrating tone of
the fog horn, his own wild screams for help, the thunder of the
breakers, and the grasp of the giant wave; all these, and many
more, came back to his mind; and he was all too soon enabled to
connect his present situation with the desperate position of the
preceding night.
In spite of all these gloomy thoughts, which thus rushed in one
accumulated mass over his soul, his first impulse had nothing to do
with these things, but was concerned with something very different
from useless retrospect, and something far more essential. He
found himself ravenously hungry; and his one idea was to satisfy
the cravings of his appetite.
He thought at once of the box of biscuit.
The sail which he had pulled forward had very fortunately covered
it up, else the contents might have been somewhat damaged. As it
was, the upper edges of the biscuits, which had been exposed before
being covered by the sail, were somewhat damp and soft, but
otherwise they were not harmed; and Tom ate his frugal repast with
extreme relish. Satisfying his appetite had the natural effect of
cheering his spirits, and led him to reflect with thankfulness on
the very fortunate presence of that box of biscuit in the boat.
Had it not been for that, how terrible would his situation be! But
with that he could afford to entertain hope, and might reasonably
expect to endure the hardships of his situation. Strange to say,
he was not at all thirsty; which probably arose from the fact that
he was wet to the skin.
Immersing one's self in water is often resorted to by shipwrecked
mariners, when they cannot get a drink, and with successful
results. As for Tom, his whole night had been one long bath, in
which he had been exposed to the penetrating effects of the sea air
and the fog.
He had no idea whatever of the time. The sun could not be seen,
and so thick was the fog that he could not even make out in what
part of the sky it might be. He had a general impression, however,
that it was midday; and this impression was not very much out of
the way. His breakfast refreshed him, and he learned now to attach
so much value to his box of biscuit, that his chief desire was to
save it from further injury. So he hunted about for the cover, and
finding it underneath the other end of the sail, he put it on the
box, and then covered it all up. In this position the precious
contents of the box were safe.
The hour of the day was a subject of uncertainty, and so was the
state of the tide. Whether he was drifting up or down the bay he
could not tell for certain. His recollection of the state of the
tide at Petitcodiac, was but vague. He reckoned, however, from the
ship launch of the preceding day, and then, allowing sufficient
time for the difference in the tide, he approximated to a correct
conclusion. If it were midday, he thought that the tide would be
about half way down on the ebb.
These thoughts, and acts, and calculations took up some time, and
he now began to look around him. Suddenly his eye caught sight of
something not far away, dimly visible through the mist. It looked
like a rock. A farther examination showed him that such was the
case. It was a rock, and he was drifting towards it. No sooner
had he ascertained this, than all his excitement once more
awakened. Trembling from head to foot at this sudden prospect of
escape, he started to his feet, and watched most eagerly the
progress of the boat. It was drifting nearer to the rock. Soon
another appeared, and then another. The rocks were black, and
covered with masses of sea-weed, as though they were submerged at
high tide. A little nearer, and he saw a gravelly strand lying
just beyond the rocks. His excitement grew stronger and stronger,
until at last it was quite uncontrollable. He began to fear that
he would drift past this place, into the deep water again. He
sprang into the bows, and grasping the rope in his hand, stood
ready to leap ashore. He saw that he was drawing nearer, and so
delayed for a while. Nearer he came and nearer. At length the
boat seemed to pass along by the gravelly beach, and move by it as
though it would go no nearer. This Tom could not endure. He
determined to wait no longer. He sprang.
He sank into the water up to his armpits, but he did not lose his
hold of the rope. Clutching this in a convulsive grasp, he
regained his foothold, which he had almost lost, and struggled
forward. For a few moments he made no headway, for the boat, at
the pressure of the current, pulled so hard that he could not drag
it nearer. A terrible fear came to him that the rope might break.
Fortunately it did not, and, after a short but violent struggle,
Tom conquered the resistance of the tide, and pulled the boat
slowly towards the shore. He then towed it near to the rocks,
dragged its bows up as far as he could, and fastened it securely.
Then he looked around.
A few rocks were near him, about six feet high, jutting out of the
gravel; and beyond these were others, which rose out of the water.
Most of them were covered with sea-weed. A few sticks of timber
were wedged in the interstices of the nearest rocks. As to the
rest, he saw only a rocky ledge of small extent, which was
surrounded by water. Beyond this nothing was visible but fog.
At first he had thought that this was a beach, but now he began to
doubt this. He walked all around, and went into the water on every
side, but found no signs of any neighboring shore. The place
seemed rather like some isolated ledge. But where was it, and how
far away was the shore? If he could only tell that! He stopped,
and listened intently; he walked all around, and listened more
intently still, in hopes of hearing the sound of some neighboring
surf. In vain. Nothing of the kind came to his ears. All was
still. The water was not rough, nor was there very much wind.
There was only a brisk breeze, which threw up light waves on the
surface.
After a time he noticed that the tide was going down, and the area
of the ledge was evidently enlarging. This inspired hope, for he
thought that perhaps some long shoal might be disclosed by the
retreating tide, which might communicate with the main land. For
this he now watched intently, and occupied himself with measuring
the distance from the rock where his boat was tied. Doing this
from time to time, he found that every little while the number of
paces between the rock and the water's edge increased. This
occupation made the time pass rapidly; and at last Tom found his
stopping-place extending over an area of about a hundred yards in
length, and half as many in breadth. The rocks at one end had
increased in apparent size, and in number; but the ledge itself
remained unchanged in its general character.
This, he saw, was its extreme limit, beyond which it did not
extend. There was no communication with any shore. There was no
more indication now of land than when he had first arrived. This
discovery was a gradual one. It had been heralded by many fears
and suspicions, so that at last, when it forced itself on his
convictions, he was not altogether unprepared. Still, the shock
was terrible, and once more poor Tom had to struggle with his
despair--a despair, too, that was all the more profound from the
hopes that he had been entertaining. He found, at length, in
addition to this, that the tide was rising, that it was advancing
towards his resting-place, and that it would, no doubt, overflow it
all before long. It had been half tide when he landed, and but a
little was uncovered; at full tide he saw that it would all be
covered up by the water,--sea weed, rocks, and all,--and concealed
from human eye.
In the midst of these painful discoveries there suddenly occurred
to him the true name and nature of this place.
Quaco Ledge!
That was the place which Captain Corbet had described. He recalled
now the full description. Here it lay before him; upon it he
stood; and he found that it corresponded in every respect with the
description that the captain had given. If this were indeed so,
and the description were true,--and he could not doubt this,--how
desperate his situation was, and how he had been deceived in his
false hopes! Far, far away was he from any shore!--in the middle
of the bay; on a place avoided by all--a place which he should shun
above all other places if he hoped for final escape!
And now he was as eager to quit this ill-omened place as he had
once been to reach it. The tide was yet low. He tried to push the
boat down, but could not. He saw that he would have to wait. So
he got inside the boat, and, sitting down, he waited patiently.
The time passed slowly, and Tom looked despairingly out over the
water. Something attracted his attention. It was a long pole,
which had struck against the edge of the shoal. He got out of the
boat, and, securing it, he walked back again. It was some waif
that had been drifting about till it was thus cast at his feet. He
thought of taking it for a mast, and making use of the sail. The
idea was an attractive one. He pulled the sail out, unfolded it,
and found it to be the jib of some schooner. He cut off one end of
this, and then with his knife began to make a hole in the seat for
his mast. It was very slow work, but he succeeded at last in doing
it, and inserted the pole. Then he fastened the sail to it. He
was rather ignorant of navigation, but he had a general idea of the
science, and thought he would learn by experience. By cutting off
the rope from the edge of the sail he obtained a sheet, and taking
off the cover of the biscuit box a second time, he put this aside
to use as a rudder.
But now, in what direction ought he to steer?
This was an insoluble problem. He could tell now by the flow of
the current the points of the compass, but could not tell in which
direction he ought to go. The New Brunswick coast he thought was
nearest, but he dreaded it. It seemed perilous and unapproachable.
He did not think much better of the Nova Scotia coast. He thought
rather of Cape d'Or, as a promising place of refuge, or the
Petitcodiac. So, after long deliberation, he decided on steering
back again, especially as the wind was blowing directly up the bay.
By the time that he had finished these preparations and deliberations
the boat was afloat. Eagerly Tom pushed it away from the shoal;
eagerly, and with trembling hands, he let the sail unfold, and
thrust the board into the water astern. The boat followed the
impulse of the wind, and the young sailor saw with delight that his
experiment was successful, and before long the dark rocks of Quaco
Ledge were lost to view.
Now, where there is a definite object to steer by, or a compass to
guide one, and a decent rudder, even an inexperienced hand can
manage to come somewhere near the point that he aims at. But take
a boat like Tom's, and a rude and suddenly extemporized sail, with
no other rudder than a bit of board, with no compass, and a
surrounding of thick fog, and it would puzzle even an experienced
sailor to guide himself aright. Tom soon suspected that his course
was rather a wild one; his board in particular became quite
unmanageable, and he was fatigued with trying to hold it in the
water. So he threw it aside, and boldly trusted to his sail alone.
The boat seemed to him to be making very respectable progress. The
wind was fresh, and the sea only moderate. The little waves beat
over the bows, and there was quite a commotion astern. Tom thought
he was doing very well, and heading as near as possible towards the
Petitcodiac. Besides, in his excitement at being thus saved from
mere blind drifting, he did not much care where he went, for he
felt assured that he was now on the way out of his difficulties.
In an hour or two after leaving the ledge it grew quite dark, and
Tom saw that it would be necessary to prepare for the night. His
preparations were simple, consisting in eating a half dozen
biscuit. He now began to feel a little thirsty, but manfully
struggled against this feeling. Gradually the darkness grew
deeper, until at last it assumed the intense character of the
preceding night. But still Tom sat up, and the boat went on. The
wind did not slacken, nor did the boat's progress cease. Hours
passed by in this way. As to the tides, Tom could not tell now
very well whether they were rising or falling, and, in fact, he was
quite indifferent, being satisfied fully with his progress. As
long as the wind distended his sail, and bore the boat onward, he
cared not whether the tide favored or opposed.
Hours passed, but such was Tom's excitement that he still bore up,
and thought nothing of rest or of sleep. His attention was needed,
too, and so he kept wide awake, and his ears were ever on the
stretch to hear the slightest sound. But at last the intense
excitement and the long fatigue began to overpower him. Still he
struggled against his weakness, and still he watched and listened.
Hours passed on, and the wind never ceased to fill the sail, and
the boat never ceased to go onward in a course of which Tom could
have no idea. It was a course totally different from the one which
be intended--a course which depended on the chance of the wind; and
one, too, which was varied by the sweep of the tide as it rose or
fell; but the course, such as it was, continued on, and Tom watched
and waited until, at last, from sheer exhaustion, he fell sound
asleep.
His dreams were much disturbed, but he slept on soundly, and when
he awaked it was broad day. He looked around in deep disappointment.
Fog was everywhere, as before, and nothing could be seen. Whether
he was near any shore or not he could not tell. Suddenly he noticed
that the wind was blowing from an opposite direction. How to
account for this was at first a mystery, for the fog still
prevailed, and the opposite wind could not bring fog. Was it
possible that the boat had turned during his sleep? He knew that it
was quite possible. Indeed, he believed that this was the case.
With this impression he determined to act on the theory that the
boat had turned, and not that the wind had changed. The latter idea
seemed impossible. The wind was the chill, damp fog wind--the
sou-wester. Convinced of this, Tom turned the boat, and felt
satisfied that he had resumed his true course.
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