CHAPTER XVI.
THE FOG.
The human heart is made of elastic stuff; and can scarcely experience on the same subject an equal intensity of grief. Repetition had softened the anguish of this second parting; the bitterness of grief was already past; and the sun of hope was calmly rising above the clouds of sorrow, which had hung for the last weary days so loweringly above our emigrants. Mr. Hawke and his son alone accompanied them on this second expedition. Adam Mansel had had enough of the sea, during their late adventure, and thought it most prudent to make his adieus on shore.
James Hawke was in high spirits; anticipating with boyish enthusiasm, the adventures which might fall to his share during a long voyage; and his sojourn in that distant land, which was to prove to him a very land of Goshen. Many gay hopes smiled upon him, which, like that bright sunny day, were doomed to have a gloomy ending, although at the beginning it promised so fair.
The owner of the boat, a morose old seaman, grumbled out his commands to the two sailors who managed the craft, in such a dogged, sulky tone, that it attracted the attention of the elder Hawke, and being naturally fond of fun, he endeavoured to draw him out. An abrupt monosyllable was the sole reply he could obtain to any one of his many questions.
Lyndsay was highly amused by his surly humour, and flattered himself that he might prove more successful than his friend, by startling the sea-bear into a more lengthy growl.
“Friend,” said he carelessly, “I have forgotten your name?”
“Sam Rogers,” was the brief reply; uttered in a short grunt.
“Does the boat belong to you?”