THE SUMMIT
“I will break thee.” Across Kerguelen those words are written to be read by the soul of man. The rock, the rain, the wind and the sea, these, as instruments, would surely be sufficient for the carrying out of the threat; but the soul of man is strong, hence the spirit of Kerguelen has called to its assistance Fog.
Since landing on the great beach the girl had seen the islands fog-wreathed several times but the beach itself had only once been attacked.
When she awoke on the rock plateau the first word of Raft to her was “fog.”
They had slept as the dead sleep for nine hours and Raft had awoken with the girl’s head still on his chest and feeling as though he were packed in damp cotton wool. It was after sun up and the fog was so dense that the edge of the plateau was only just visible. Through the fog came the breaking of the waves; the tide was coming in again.
Raft had lit his pipe and the girl, stiff from lying, rose up and stamped about to warm herself. Neither of them spoke a word in the way of grumbling.
The plateau was about twenty yards in length and by drawing off five yards or so one could have a dressing-room screened with a fog veil, so the fog was not an unmixed evil.
Then they breakfasted, listening to the slashing of the water just below and counting the time till the out-going sea would let them loose.
“It’s a good job I went to the point last night,” said Raft, “else we wouldn’t be able to start in this smother, not knowing what was beyond there.”
“Will we be able to start in this?” she asked.