Books: Lost in the Fog
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James De Mille >> Lost in the Fog
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At last the work was finished as far as he could accomplish it, and
there remained nothing more to be done. As far as he could see, by
shaking, and pulling, and pushing at the collection of sticks and
canvas, it was very firm and secure. Every stick seemed to be
tight, and the pressure which they maintained against the aperture
was so strong that the wood-work now was forced out a little
distance beyond the outline of the boat. He examined most
carefully all about the bows on the outside, but saw no place which
did not seem to be fully protected. It seemed to him now as though
that piled-up canvas ought to resist the entrance of the water, or,
if not, at least that it ought not to allow it to enter so rapidly
but that he could easily keep the boat baled out.
He was not altogether confident, yet he was hopeful, and as
determined as ever to make a trial.
XII.
Waiting for high Water.--A Trial.--A new Discovery.--Total
Failure.--Down again.--Overboard.--A Struggle for Life.
Tom's work was thus, at length, accomplished, and it remained now
to get the boat in readiness and wait. Slowly and carefully he
raised the bow by means of the lever, and one by one he withdrew
the boards which held it up. At last the boat lay on the beach,
ready to receive the uplifting arms of the returning tide whenever
it should make its appearance again. Tom saw with satisfaction
that the boat was about three yards down below high-water mark, on
the spot to which he had dragged it after the failure of his last
experiment. This, of course, would be so much in his favor, for it
would thus be able to float before the water should reach its
height.
He had worked hard all the afternoon, and it was already dark. The
tide, which had been falling, had some time ago reached its lowest
point, and was now returning. Between him and the lowest point was
a great distance, for the tides here rise to a perpendicular height
of over forty feet; but Tom knew that the time required to traverse
the long space that here intervened between high and low-water mark
was precisely the same as if it had only to rise a few feet.
He was very hungry, but some things had yet to be done. He had to
put on board the boat the articles that he had taken ashore. His
matches were now quite dry, and he put them in his pocket with a
deep sense of their value to him in his present position. His
clothes also were dry, and these he put on. The sail, the coil of
rope, and the box of biscuit were put on board the boat. Tom had
still to make his frugal repast; but this was soon accomplished,
and he felt again a sense of exceeding thankfulness at the
possession of the box of biscuit. At length his evening meal was
over, and by the time that he had finished it, it had grown quite
dark. He now went to the boat, and tied up the sail around the
mast. There was nothing to which he could fasten the boat; but it
was not necessary, as he was on the watch. The water continued
smooth, the wind was from the north, as before, and there was no
sign of fog. Overhead the sky was free from clouds, and the stars
twinkled pleasantly to his upturned eyes, as if to encourage him.
There was no moon, however, and though it was not very dark, yet it
was sufficiently so to veil the nearest shores in gloom, and
finally to withdraw them altogether from his view. Still it was
not a matter of necessity that he should see the opposite shores,
for he knew that his chief, and indeed his only reliance must be
upon the tide; and this would bear him in its upward course on the
morrow. The night was only needed to float the boat down as far as
low-water mark. The process of floating her would serve to test
the security of the fastenings, and show whether he could venture
to make the attempt.
For hours Tom waited, sometimes seated in the boat, at other times
walking along the beach down to the water. He found it difficult
to keep himself awake, and therefore did not venture to sit down
long. Wearied with his long work through the day, the necessity of
constant exertion wearied him still more, until at length he could
scarce draw his legs after him. But all things have an end, and so
it was with Tom's dreary watch; for at length the waters came up,
and touched the boat, and surrounded it, until at last, to his
great joy, Tom found himself afloat. He seized his stick, and
pushed the boat into deeper water, a few yards off, with the
intention of keeping her at about that distance from the shore.
The one thought that was now in his mind referred exclusively to
his work in the boat. Was it firm? Would it hold? Did it leak?
The boat was floating, certainly. How long would if continue to do
so? For a few minutes he waited anxiously, as he floated there in
deep water, with his eyes fixed on the work in the bow, and his
ears listening intently to detect any sign of that warning,
gurgling sound, which had struck terror to his heart on his last
embarkation. But no sign came of any sound of that sort, and he
heard nothing but the gentle dash of the water against the sides of
the boat. Thus about five minutes passed. At the end of that
time, he raised the sail, which he had laid along the bottom of the
boat, and examined underneath it. The first touch of his fingers
at the bottom lessened very largely the hope that was in him, and
at once chased away the feeling of exultation that was rising. For
there, in the bottom of the boat, he felt as much as an inch of
water. After the first shock, he tried to believe that it was only
the water that was in the boat before; and so, taking comfort in
this thought, he waited for further developments, but at the same
time took the dipper, so as to be ready to bale out the water, and
have a struggle for it in case the worst should happen.
Another minute assured him that this was not the water which had
been in the boat before. A new supply was entering, and in the
space of that short time of waiting it had risen to the height of
another inch. Tom felt a sudden pang of dismay, but his stout
heart did not quail, nor did his obstinate resolution falter.
Since it was the sea water that was coming in, he determined to
have a fight with it for the possession of the boat. So he set to
work bravely, and began to bale. He pulled up the sail, so as to
have plenty of elbow-room, and worked away, dipping out the water;
but, as he dipped, he perceived that it was gradually getting
deeper. He dipped faster, but without any visible improvement,
indeed, his efforts seemed to have but very little effect in
retarding the entrance of the water. It grew deeper and deeper.
One inch of water soon deepened to two inches, and thence to three.
Soon after four inches were felt.
And now the water came in more rapidly. It seemed to Tom as though
it had been delayed at first, for a little time, in finding an
entrance, but that now, after the entrance was found, it came
pouring in with ever-accelerated speed. Tom struggled on, hoping
against hope, and keeping up his efforts long after they were
proved to be useless. But the water came in faster and faster,
until at length Tom began to see that he must seek his safety in
another way. Flinging down his dipper, then, with a cry of
vexation, he started up, and, seizing his bit of board, he looked
around for the shore.
He had been caught by some side current, and had been carried along
in such a way that he was about a hundred yards from the island,
and seemed to be drifting up the bay. The dark, shadowy shores
were much farther away than he had suspected. While struggling to
bale out the boat, he had forgotten how necessary it was to keep
near to the shore. He now saw his mistake, and strove to paddle
the boat back again. With such a clumsy oar it is not likely that
he could have achieved his desire at all, had the flood tide been
stronger; but now it was about at its height, and would soon turn,
if it was not turning already. The current, therefore, was but a
weak one, and Tom found himself able to move slowly back; but his
progress was very slow, and working at such a disadvantage was
excessively fatiguing. At last he saw that if he trusted to
paddling he could never reach the shore. In a moment another idea
suggested itself; there was no time to lose, and he at once acted
on it. Darting forward, he loosed the sail. The wind was still
blowing from the north; at once the sail was filled, and, yielding
to this new power, the boat began to move more rapidly. Tom tied
the sheet astern, and, seizing his paddle, tried to scull the boat.
For some minutes he kept up this work, and the boat moved steadily
forward, nearer and still nearer, until the land was at length not
more than thirty or forty yards off.
But by this time the danger had come nearer, and the boat was
already half full of water. Tom began to see that it could not
float as far as the shore. What was he to do? He waited a little
longer. He looked around. The boat was drawing nearer, yet soon
it must go down. To ease it, it would be necessary to relieve it
of his own weight. He did not lose his presence of mind for a
moment, but determined at once to jump overboard. In his perfect
coolness he thought of one or two things which were of importance
to him, and performed them swiftly and promptly. First he took the
box of biscuit, and placed it on the heap of boards and canvas in
the bows, so that it might remain as long as possible out of reach
of the water. Then he took the card of matches out of his
waistcoat pocket, and put them in his hat, which he replaced on his
head. To secure thus from damage the two necessaries of food and
fire was but the work of a few seconds. To throw off his coat,
waistcoat, and trousers, and hang them over the top of the short
mast, was the work of a few seconds more. By the time this had
been done, the water was nearly up to the gunwales. In five
seconds more the boat would have gone down; but, so well had Tom's
work been done, and so promptly, that these five seconds were
saved. Having done what he wished, he let himself down into the
water; and, holding on by the stern of the boat, he allowed himself
to float after it, kicking out at the same time, so as to assist,
rather than retard, its progress.
By this time the land was not more than twenty yards away. The
boat did not sink so rapidly now, but kept afloat much better;
still the water rose to a level with the gunwales, and Tom was too
much rejoiced to find that it kept afloat at all to find fault with
this. The wind still blew, and the sail was still up; so that the
water-logged vessel went on at a very respectable rate, until at
length half the distance which Tom had noticed on going overboard
was traversed. The boat seemed to float now, though full of water,
and Tom saw that his precious biscuit, at any rate, would not be
very much harmed. Nearer and nearer now he came until at last,
letting himself down, his feet touched bottom. A cry of delight
escaped him; and now, bracing himself firmly against the solid land
below, he urged the boat on faster, until at length her deep-sunk
bows grated against the gravel of the beach.
He hurried up to the box of biscuit, and put this ashore in a safe
place; after which he secured the boat to a jagged rock on the
bank. He found now that he had come to a different part of the
beach altogether, for his boat was lying at the spot where the
little brook ran into the sea. Well was it for him, in that rash
and hazardous experiment, that he had floated off before the tide
was high. It had led to his drifting up the bay, instead of down,
and by a weak current, instead of a strong one. The wind had thus
brought him back. Had it been full tide, he would have drifted out
from the shore, and then have been carried down the bay by the
falling water to swift and sure destruction.
Tom now took off his wet shirt, and put on the dry clothes which he
had so prudently hung on the top of the mast. He perceived that he
had not a very pleasant lookout for the night, for the sail which
he had formerly used to envelop himself with was now completely
saturated. It was also too dark to go to the woods in search of
ferns or mosses on which to sleep. However, the night was a
pleasant one, and the grass around would not be so bad a resting-
place as he had been forced to use while drifting in the boat. He
had now become accustomed to hardship by bitter experience, and so
he looked forward to the night without care.
The day had been an eventful one, indeed, for him, and his last
adventure had been full of peril, from which he had been most
wonderfully rescued.
These thoughts were in his mind, and he did not fail to offer up
prayers of heartfelt gratitude to that good and merciful Being who
had thus far so wonderfully preserved him. With such feelings in
his heart, he sought out a sleeping-place, and after some search he
found a mossy knoll. Seating himself here, he reclined his back
against it, and in a few minutes the worn-out boy was buried in a
deep sleep.
He slept until late on the following day, and on waking looked
around to see if there were any sails in view. None were visible.
The tide was about half way up, and the wide waters spread before
him without any vessel in sight. He then began his preparations
for the day. He hung his shirt upon a bush, and spread out the wet
sail on the grass. An examination of the biscuit showed him that
they had scarcely been injured at all, the water having penetrated
only the lower part of the box. He removed the lower layer of
biscuit, and spread them out on a rock in the sun to dry. After
this he breakfasted, and wandered about for a time. He then took a
swim, and felt much refreshed. By the time that his swim was over,
he found that the hot sun had dried his shirt, so that he could
once more assume that very important article of clothing.
The sun climbed high towards the zenith, and the tide came up
higher, as Tom sat there alone on his desert island, looking out
upon the sea. The boat from which he had hoped so much had proved
false to those hopes, and all the labors of the previous day had
proved useless. His attempt to escape had nearly resulted in his
destruction. He had learned from that experiment that no efforts
of his could now effect his rescue. He had done the very best he
could, and it would not be possible for him, with his present
resources, to contrive anything better than that which had so
miserably failed. If he could only procure some tar, he might then
stop up the interstices; but as it was, nothing of his construction
would avail to keep back the treacherous entrance of the water. It
seemed now to him that his stay on the island was destined to be
prolonged to a much greater extent than he had first thought of,
and there did not seem any longer a hope of saving himself by his
own exertions.
Alone on a desert island!
It was a dreadful fact which now forced itself more and more upon
Tom's mind, until at length he could think of nothing else.
Hitherto he had fought off the idea whenever it presented itself,
and so long as he had been able to indulge in any hope of freeing
himself by his own exertions, he prevented himself from sinking
into the gloom of utter despair. But now he could no longer save
himself from that gloom, and the thought grew darker and drearier
before him--the one fact of his present situation.
Alone on a desert island!
A very interesting thing to read about, no doubt; and Tom, like all
boys, had revelled in the portrayals of such a situation which he
had encountered in his reading. No one had entered with more zest
than he into the pages of Robinson Crusoe, and no one had enjoyed
more than he the talks which boys love to have about their possible
doings under such circumstances. But now, to be here, and find
himself in such a place,--to be brought face to face with the hard,
stern, dismal fact,--was another thing altogether. What oppressed
him most was not the hardships of his position. These he could
have withstood if there had been nothing worse. The worst part of
his present life was its solitude. If Bart had been here with him,
or Bruce, or Arthur, or Phil, or Pat, how different it would have
been! Even old Solomon would have enabled him to pass the time
contentedly. But to be alone,--all alone,--without a soul to speak
to,--that was terrible.
Tom soon found that the very way to deepen his misery was to sit
still and brood over it. He was not inclined to give way to
trouble. It has already been seen that he was a boy of obstinate
courage, resolute will, and invincible determination. He was
capable of struggling to the last against any adversity; and even
if he had to lose, he knew how to lose without sinking into
complete despair. These moods of depression, or even of despair,
which now and then did come, were not permanent. In time he shook
them off, and looked about for some new way of carrying on the
struggle with evil fortune.
So now he shook off this fit of depression, and starting up he
determined not to sit idle any longer.
"I won't stand it," he muttered. "There's lots of things to be
seen, and to be done. And first of all I've got to explore this
island. Come, Tom, my boy; cheer up, old fellow. You've pretended
to admire Robinson Crusoe; act up to your profession. And first of
all, my boy, you've got to explore Juan Fernandez."
The sound of his own voice had the effect of encouraging and
inspiriting him, while the purpose which he thus assigned to
himself was sufficient to awaken his prostrated energies. There
was something in the plan which roused all his curiosity, and
turned his thoughts and feelings into a totally new direction. No
sooner, then, had this thought occurred to him, than he at once set
out to put it into execution.
First of all he took one parting look at the scene around him. The
sun had now passed its meridian, and it seemed to be one o'clock or
after. The tide was high. The boat, which had at first floated,
was now nearly full of water. Tom threw a melancholy glance at
this fresh proof of the utter futility of all his labor, and then
examined the fastenings, so that it might not drift away during his
absence. Then he searched among the drift-wood until he found a
stout stick to assist him in climbing, and to serve as a companion
in his walk, after which he started.
The sun was bright, but over the sky some clouds were gathering,
and the opposite shores seemed to have grown darker than they were
a few hours ago, having assumed a hue like olive green. The wind
had also died away, and the water was as smooth as glass.
XIII.
Where's Solomon?--An anxious Search.--The Beach.--The cavernous
Cliffs.--Up the Precipice.--Along the Shore.--Back for Boats.
The loss of Solomon had filled the boys with anxiety, and even
Captain Corbet shared in the common feeling. He had preferred to
set out, as he said, with a coil of rope; but the sight of this
seemed to make Solomon's fate appear darker, and looked as though
he might have fallen over a precipice, or into a deep pool of
water. They all knew that a serious accident was not at all
improbable. They had seen the lofty and rugged cliffs that lined
the bay shore, and knew that the rising waters, as they dashed over
them, might form the grave of a man far younger and more active
than the aged Solomon. He was weak and rheumatic; he was also
timid and easily confused. If the water had overtaken him
anywhere, he might easily fall a prey. In his efforts to escape,
he would soon become so terrified that his limbs would be
paralyzed. He might then stumble over the rocks, and break some of
his bones, or he might be intrapped in some recess of the cliffs,
from which escape might be impossible without external help.
Full of thoughts like these, the boys went on, with Captain Corbet,
up through the village, looking carefully around as they went on,
and making inquiries of every one whom they met. No one, however,
could give them any information. At last they reached the end of
the village. Here, on the left, there arose a high hill. The road
wound round this, and descended into a valley, through which a
stream ran to the bay. In this valley there was a ship-yard, where
the half-finished fabric of a large ship stood before them, and
from which the rattle of a hundred axes rose into the air. The
valley itself was a beautiful place, running up among steep hills,
till it was lost to view among a mass of evergreen trees and rich
foliage. Below the shipyard was a cove of no very great depth, but
of extreme beauty. Beyond this was a broad beach, which, at the
farthest end, was bounded by the projecting headland before alluded
to. The headland was a precipitous cliff of red sandstone, crowned
at the summit with a fringe of forest trees, white at its base were
two or three hollow caverns, worn into the solid rock by the action
of the surf. One of these was about thirty feet in height at its
mouth, and ran back for sixty or seventy feet, narrowing all the
way, like a funnel, from its entrance to its farthest extremity.
The tide was now nearly at its height, and progress down the beach
and along the cliff was impossible. The caves were cut off also,
and the water penetrated them for some distance. At low tide one
could easily walk down to the extreme point of the headland, and
rounding this, he would find it possible to go along in front of
the cliffs for an immense distance, either by walking along the
rough beach at their foot, or, if the water should rise again, by
going along rocky shelves, which projected for miles from the
surface of the cliff.
Reaching the head of the beach, Captain Corbet paused, and looked
around.
"Before goin any further," said he, "we'd better ask the folks at
this ship-yard. It ain't possible to tell whether he's gone by the
beach or not. He may have gone up the valley."
"O," said Bart, dolefully, "he must have gone by the beach."
"I rayther think I'll ask, at any rate," said the captain.
So saying, he walked up towards a house that was not far off, and
accosted some men who were standing there. On hearing his
question, they were silent for a few moments; and at last one of
them recollected seeing an aged colored man passing by early in the
morning. He had a basket on his arm, and in every way corresponded
to the description of Solomon. He was on his way up the shore.
"Did he go down to the pint," asked Captain Corbet, "or up to the
top of the cliff?"
The man couldn't say for certain; but as far as he could recollect,
it seemed to him that he went down to the pint.
"About what time?"
"Between eight and nine o'clock--in fact, about eight--not much
later."
"Did he speak to any one here?"
"No; he walked past without stoppin. An do you say he ain't got
back?"
"Not yet."
"Wal," said the man, "for an old feller, an a feller what don't
know the country hereabouts, he's gone on a dangerous journey; an
ef he's tried to get back, he's found it a pooty hard road to
travel."
"Isn't there any chance of his gettin back by the cliff?"
"Not with the water risin onto his path."
"Is there any way of gettin up to the top of the cliff?"
"Wal, fur a active young feller it wouldn't be hard, but for a pore
old critter like that thar, it couldn't be done--no how."
"Wal, boys," said Captain Corbet, sorrowfully, "I guess we'd better
get on, an not lose any more time."
They walked away in silence for some time, until at last they
reached the foot of the cliff. A path here ran up in a winding
direction so as to reach the top.
"It seems too bad," said Captain Corbet, "not to be able to get to
the beach. I wish I'd come in the boat. What a fool I was not to
think of it!"
"O, I dare say the top of the cliff will do," said Bruce.
"Wal, it'll have to do. At any rate I've got the kile of rope."
"We shall be able to see him from the top just as well, and perhaps
better."
"Wal, I hope so; but we'll be a leetle too far above him for my
fancy,--ony we can use the rope, I s'pose. Can any of you
youngsters climb?"
"O, yes," said Bart, "all of us."
"What kind of heads have you got--stiddy?"
"Yes, good enough," said Bruce. "I'll engage to go anywhere that I
can find a foothold; and here's Bart, that'll go certainly as far,
and perhaps farther. And here's Phil, that can do his share. As
for Pat, he can beat us all; he can travel like a fly, upside down,
or in any direction."
"Wal, I'm glad to hear that, boys, for it's likely you'll be wanted
to do some climbin afore we get back. I used to do somethin in
that way; but since I've growed old, an rheumatic, I've got kine o'
out o' the way of it, an don't scacely feel sech confidence in
myself as I used to onst. But come, we mustn't be waitin here all
day."
At this they started up the path, and soon reached the top of the
cliff.
Arriving here, they found themselves in a cultivated meadow,
passing through which they reached a pasture field. After a walk
of about a quarter of a mile, they came to the cliff that ran along
the shore of the bay, and on reaching this, the whole bay burst
upon their view.
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