Lost in the Fog

by James De Mille

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.