Lost in the Fog

by James De Mille

The camp opened towards the fire, from which it was not so far distant but that Tom could attend to it without any very great inconvenience. The fire shone pleasantly before him as he sat down at his evening repast. As the darkness increased, it threw a ruddier glow upon all the scene around, lighting up field and hill, and sending long streams of radiance into the fog that overhung the sea. Tom had prepared an unusually large supply of fuel, this evening, for the express purpose of burning it all up; partly for his own amusement, and partly in the hope that it might meet the eyes of some passing navigator. It was his only hope. To keep his signals going by night and day was the surest plan of effecting a speedy escape. Who could tell what might be out on the neighboring sea? How did he know but that the Antelope might be somewhere near at hand, with his companions on board, cruising anxiously about in search after the missing boat? He never ceased to think that they were following after him somewhere, and to believe that, in the course of their wanderings, they might come somewhere within sight of him. He knew that they would never give him up till they assuredly knew his fate, but would follow after him, and set other vessels on the search, till the whole bay, with all its shores and islands, should be thoroughly ransacked.

Fortunate was it for him, he thought, that there was so large a supply of drift-wood at hand on the beach, dry, portable, and in every way convenient for use. Thanks to this, he might now disperse the gloom of dark and foggy nights, and keep up a better signal in the dark than he could do in the light. Thus the fuel was heaped on, and the fire flamed up, and Tom sat near, looking complacently upon the brilliant glow.

Thus far, for nearly a week, he had fed on biscuit only; but now, as he ate his repast, he began to think that it was a very monotonous fare, and to wonder whether it might not be possible to find something which could give a zest to his repasts. The biscuit were holding out well, but still he felt a desire to husband his resources, and if any additional food could in any way be procured, it would not only be a relish, but would also lessen his demand upon his one sole source of supply. He thought earnestly upon the subject of fish. He turned his thoughts very seriously to the subject of fish-hooks, and tried to think of some way by which he could capture some of the fish with which these waters abounded. But this idea did not seem to promise much. In the first place, he could think of no possible way in which he could procure any serviceable hook; in the second place, even if he had a hook and line all ready and baited, he did not see how he would be able to cast it within reach of any fish. His boat would not float him even for the little distance that was required to get into the places where fish might be. He could only stand upon the beach out of their reach.

But, in the course of his thoughts, he soon perceived that other sources of food were possible to him besides the fish that were caught by hook and line. His mind reverted to the populous realm of shell-fish. These were all before him. Round the rocks and amid the sea-weed there certainly must be mussels. At low tide, amid the ledges and the sand, there surely must be some lobsters. Before him there was an extensive mud flat, where there ought to be clams. Here was his fire, always ready, by night and by day. Why should he not be able to make use of that fire, not only for cheering his mind, and giving him warmth, and signaling to passers-by, but also for cooking his meals?

This was the question that he asked himself as he ate his biscuit. He could not see why he should not be able to accomplish this. As far as he could see, there ought to be plenty of shell-fish of various kinds on these shores. The more he thought of it, the more probable it seemed. He determined to solve the difficulty as soon as possible. On former occasions he had arranged his work on the evening for the succeeding day. On this evening he marked out this work for the morrow, and arranged in his mind a comprehensive and most diligent search for shell-fish, which should embrace the whole circuit of the island.

With this in his mind, he arranged the fire as usual, so as to keep it alive, and then retired to his camp for the night. The presence of a roof over his head was grateful in the extreme. He let down the canvas folds over the entrance, and felt a peculiar sense of security and comfort. The moss and ferns which he had heaped up were luxuriously soft and deliciously fragrant. Over these he stretched his wearied limbs with a sigh of relief, and soon was asleep.

So comfortable was his bed, and so secure his shelter, that he slept longer than usual. It was late when he awaked. He hurried forth and looked around. The fog still rested over everything. If possible it was thicker and more dismal than even on the preceding day. To his surprise, he soon noticed that it had been raining quite heavily through the night. Around, in many places, he saw pools of water, and in the hollows of the rocks he saw the same. This could only have been done by the rain. Going back to his camp, he saw that the canvas was quite wet. And yet the rain had all rolled off. Not a drop had entered. The moss and the fern inside were perfectly dry, and he had not the slightest feeling of dampness about him. His camp was a complete success.

He now went off to search for clams. The tide had been high at about six in the morning. It was now, as he judged, about ten or eleven, and the water was quite low. Selecting a piece of shingle from his wood-pile, he walked down over the mud flat that extended from the point, and, after going a little distance, he noticed the holes that give indications of the presence of clams beneath. Turning up the sand, he soon threw out some of them. He now dug in several different places, and obtained sufficient for the day. These he carried back to the bank in triumph. Then he stirred up his fire, heaped on plenty of wood, and arranged his clams in front so as to roast them.

In spite of Mrs. Pratt's theories, the clams were found by Tom to be delicious, and gave such relish to the biscuit, that he began to think whether he could not make use of the baling dipper, and make a clam chowder.

This breakfast was a great success, and Tom now confidently expected to find other shell-fish, by means of which his resources might be enlarged and improved.