Lost in the Fog.--The Shoal and its Rocks.--Is it a Reef?--The
Truth.--Hoisting Sail.--A forlorn Hope.--Wild Steering.--Where am
I?--Land, ho!
Tom slept for many hours; and when he at length awoke, he was stiffened
in every limb, and wet to the skin. It was his constrained position
and the heavy fog which had done this. He sat up and looked around
with a bewildered air; but it did not take a long time for him to
collect his wandering faculties, and arrive at the full recollection of
his situation. Gradually it all came before him--the night of horror,
the long drift, the frantic struggles, the boom of the surf, the
shrill, penetrating tone of the fog horn, his own wild screams for
help, the thunder of the breakers, and the grasp of the giant wave; all
these, and many more, came back to his mind; and he was all too soon
enabled to connect his present situation with the desperate position of
the preceding night.
In spite of all these gloomy thoughts, which thus rushed in one
accumulated mass over his soul, his first impulse had nothing to do
with these things, but was concerned with something very different from
useless retrospect, and something far more essential. He found himself
ravenously hungry; and his one idea was to satisfy the cravings of his
appetite.
He thought at once of the box of biscuit.
The sail which he had pulled forward had very fortunately covered it
up, else the contents might have been somewhat damaged. As it was, the
upper edges of the biscuits, which had been exposed before being
covered by the sail, were somewhat damp and soft, but otherwise they
were not harmed; and Tom ate his frugal repast with extreme relish.
Satisfying his appetite had the natural effect of cheering his spirits,
and led him to reflect with thankfulness on the very fortunate presence
of that box of biscuit in the boat. Had it not been for that, how
terrible would his situation be! But with that he could afford to
entertain hope, and might reasonably expect to endure the hardships of
his situation. Strange to say, he was not at all thirsty; which
probably arose from the fact that he was wet to the skin.
Immersing one's self in water is often resorted to by shipwrecked
mariners, when they cannot get a drink, and with successful results.
As for Tom, his whole night had been one long bath, in which he had
been exposed to the penetrating effects of the sea air and the fog.
He had no idea whatever of the time. The sun could not be seen, and so
thick was the fog that he could not even make out in what part of the
sky it might be. He had a general impression, however, that it was
midday; and this impression was not very much out of the way. His
breakfast refreshed him, and he learned now to attach so much value to
his box of biscuit, that his chief desire was to save it from further
injury. So he hunted about for the cover, and finding it underneath
the other end of the sail, he put it on the box, and then covered it
all up. In this position the precious contents of the box were safe.
The hour of the day was a subject of uncertainty, and so was the state
of the tide. Whether he was drifting up or down the bay he could not
tell for certain. His recollection of the state of the tide at
Petitcodiac, was but vague. He reckoned, however, from the ship launch
of the preceding day, and then, allowing sufficient time for the
difference in the tide, he approximated to a correct conclusion. If it
were midday, he thought that the tide would be about half way down on
the ebb.
These thoughts, and acts, and calculations took up some time, and he
now began to look around him. Suddenly his eye caught sight of
something not far away, dimly visible through the mist. It looked like
a rock. A farther examination showed him that such was the case. It
was a rock, and he was drifting towards it. No sooner had he
ascertained this, than all his excitement once more awakened.
Trembling from head to foot at this sudden prospect of escape, he
started to his feet, and watched most eagerly the progress of the boat.
It was drifting nearer to the rock. Soon another appeared, and then
another. The rocks were black, and covered with masses of sea-weed, as
though they were submerged at high tide. A little nearer, and he saw a
gravelly strand lying just beyond the rocks. His excitement grew
stronger and stronger, until at last it was quite uncontrollable. He
began to fear that he would drift past this place, into the deep water
again. He sprang into the bows, and grasping the rope in his hand,
stood ready to leap ashore. He saw that he was drawing nearer, and so
delayed for a while. Nearer he came and nearer. At length the boat
seemed to pass along by the gravelly beach, and move by it as though it
would go no nearer. This Tom could not endure. He determined to wait
no longer. He sprang.
He sank into the water up to his armpits, but he did not lose his hold
of the rope. Clutching this in a convulsive grasp, he regained his
foothold, which he had almost lost, and struggled forward. For a few
moments he made no headway, for the boat, at the pressure of the
current, pulled so hard that he could not drag it nearer. A terrible
fear came to him that the rope might break. Fortunately it did not,
and, after a short but violent struggle, Tom conquered the resistance
of the tide, and pulled the boat slowly towards the shore. He then
towed it near to the rocks, dragged its bows up as far as he could, and
fastened it securely.
Then he looked around.
A few rocks were near him, about six feet high, jutting out of the
gravel; and beyond these were others, which rose out of the water. Most
of them were covered with sea-weed. A few sticks of timber were wedged
in the interstices of the nearest rocks. As to the rest, he saw only a
rocky ledge of small extent, which was surrounded by water. Beyond
this nothing was visible but fog.
At first he had thought that this was a beach, but now he began to
doubt this. He walked all around, and went into the water on every
side, but found no signs of any neighboring shore. The place seemed
rather like some isolated ledge. But where was it, and how far away
was the shore? If he could only tell that! He stopped, and listened
intently; he walked all around, and listened more intently still, in
hopes of hearing the sound of some neighboring surf. In vain. Nothing
of the kind came to his ears. All was still. The water was not rough,
nor was there very much wind. There was only a brisk breeze, which
threw up light waves on the surface.
After a time he noticed that the tide was going down, and the area of
the ledge was evidently enlarging. This inspired hope, for he thought
that perhaps some long shoal might be disclosed by the retreating tide,
which might communicate with the main land. For this he now watched
intently, and occupied himself with measuring the distance from the
rock where his boat was tied. Doing this from time to time, he found
that every little while the number of paces between the rock and the
water's edge increased. This occupation made the time pass rapidly;
and at last Tom found his stopping-place extending over an area of
about a hundred yards in length, and half as many in breadth. The
rocks at one end had increased in apparent size, and in number; but the
ledge itself remained unchanged in its general character.
This, he saw, was its extreme limit, beyond which it did not extend.
There was no communication with any shore. There was no more
indication now of land than when he had first arrived. This discovery
was a gradual one. It had been heralded by many fears and suspicions,
so that at last, when it forced itself on his convictions, he was not
altogether unprepared. Still, the shock was terrible, and once more
poor Tom had to struggle with his despair--a despair, too, that was all
the more profound from the hopes that he had been entertaining. He
found, at length, in addition to this, that the tide was rising, that
it was advancing towards his resting-place, and that it would, no
doubt, overflow it all before long. It had been half tide when he
landed, and but a little was uncovered; at full tide he saw that it
would all be covered up by the water,--sea weed, rocks, and all,--and
concealed from human eye.
In the midst of these painful discoveries there suddenly occurred to
him the true name and nature of this place.
Quaco Ledge!
That was the place which Captain Corbet had described. He recalled now
the full description. Here it lay before him; upon it he stood; and he
found that it corresponded in every respect with the description that
the captain had given. If this were indeed so, and the description
were true,--and he could not doubt this,--how desperate his situation
was, and how he had been deceived in his false hopes! Far, far away
was he from any shore!--in the middle of the bay; on a place avoided by
all--a place which he should shun above all other places if he hoped
for final escape!
And now he was as eager to quit this ill-omened place as he had once
been to reach it. The tide was yet low. He tried to push the boat
down, but could not. He saw that he would have to wait. So he got
inside the boat, and, sitting down, he waited patiently. The time
passed slowly, and Tom looked despairingly out over the water.
Something attracted his attention. It was a long pole, which had
struck against the edge of the shoal. He got out of the boat, and,
securing it, he walked back again. It was some waif that had been
drifting about till it was thus cast at his feet. He thought of taking
it for a mast, and making use of the sail. The idea was an attractive
one. He pulled the sail out, unfolded it, and found it to be the jib
of some schooner. He cut off one end of this, and then with his knife
began to make a hole in the seat for his mast. It was very slow work,
but he succeeded at last in doing it, and inserted the pole. Then he
fastened the sail to it. He was rather ignorant of navigation, but he
had a general idea of the science, and thought he would learn by
experience. By cutting off the rope from the edge of the sail he
obtained a sheet, and taking off the cover of the biscuit box a second
time, he put this aside to use as a rudder.
But now, in what direction ought he to steer?
This was an insoluble problem. He could tell now by the flow of the
current the points of the compass, but could not tell in which
direction he ought to go. The New Brunswick coast he thought was
nearest, but he dreaded it. It seemed perilous and unapproachable. He
did not think much better of the Nova Scotia coast. He thought rather
of Cape d'Or, as a promising place of refuge, or the Petitcodiac. So,
after long deliberation, he decided on steering back again, especially
as the wind was blowing directly up the bay.
By the time that he had finished these preparations and deliberations
the boat was afloat. Eagerly Tom pushed it away from the shoal;
eagerly, and with trembling hands, he let the sail unfold, and thrust
the board into the water astern. The boat followed the impulse of the
wind, and the young sailor saw with delight that his experiment was
successful, and before long the dark rocks of Quaco Ledge were lost to
view.
Now, where there is a definite object to steer by, or a compass to
guide one, and a decent rudder, even an inexperienced hand can manage
to come somewhere near the point that he aims at. But take a boat like
Tom's, and a rude and suddenly extemporized sail, with no other rudder
than a bit of board, with no compass, and a surrounding of thick fog,
and it would puzzle even an experienced sailor to guide himself aright.
Tom soon suspected that his course was rather a wild one; his board in
particular became quite unmanageable, and he was fatigued with trying
to hold it in the water. So he threw it aside, and boldly trusted to
his sail alone.
The boat seemed to him to be making very respectable progress. The
wind was fresh, and the sea only moderate. The little waves beat over
the bows, and there was quite a commotion astern. Tom thought he was
doing very well, and heading as near as possible towards the
Petitcodiac. Besides, in his excitement at being thus saved from mere
blind drifting, he did not much care where he went, for he felt assured
that he was now on the way out of his difficulties.
In an hour or two after leaving the ledge it grew quite dark, and Tom
saw that it would be necessary to prepare for the night. His
preparations were simple, consisting in eating a half dozen biscuit.
He now began to feel a little thirsty, but manfully struggled against
this feeling. Gradually the darkness grew deeper, until at last it
assumed the intense character of the preceding night. But still Tom
sat up, and the boat went on. The wind did not slacken, nor did the
boat's progress cease. Hours passed by in this way. As to the tides,
Tom could not tell now very well whether they were rising or falling,
and, in fact, he was quite indifferent, being satisfied fully with his
progress. As long as the wind distended his sail, and bore the boat
onward, he cared not whether the tide favored or opposed.
Hours passed, but such was Tom's excitement that he still bore up, and
thought nothing of rest or of sleep. His attention was needed, too,
and so he kept wide awake, and his ears were ever on the stretch to
hear the slightest sound. But at last the intense excitement and the
long fatigue began to overpower him. Still he struggled against his
weakness, and still he watched and listened.
Hours passed on, and the wind never ceased to fill the sail, and the
boat never ceased to go onward in a course of which Tom could have no
idea. It was a course totally different from the one which be
intended--a course which depended on the chance of the wind; and one,
too, which was varied by the sweep of the tide as it rose or fell; but
the course, such as it was, continued on, and Tom watched and waited
until, at last, from sheer exhaustion, he fell sound asleep.
His dreams were much disturbed, but he slept on soundly, and when he
awaked it was broad day. He looked around in deep disappointment. Fog
was everywhere, as before, and nothing could be seen. Whether he was
near any shore or not he could not tell. Suddenly he noticed that the
wind was blowing from an opposite direction. How to account for this
was at first a mystery, for the fog still prevailed, and the opposite
wind could not bring fog. Was it possible that the boat had turned
during his sleep? He knew that it was quite possible. Indeed, he
believed that this was the case. With this impression he determined to
act on the theory that the boat had turned, and not that the wind had
changed. The latter idea seemed impossible. The wind was the chill,
damp fog wind--the sou-wester. Convinced of this, Tom turned the boat,
and felt satisfied that he had resumed his true course.
After a time the wind went down, and the sail flapped idly against the
mast. Tom was in a fever of impatience, but could do nothing. He felt
himself to be once more at the mercy of the tides. The wind had failed
him, and nothing was left but to drift. All that day he drifted, and
night came on. Still it continued calm. Tom was weary and worn out,
but so intense was his excitement that he could not think of sleep. At
midnight the wind sprung up a little; and now Tom determined to keep
awake, so that the boat might not again double on her track. He blamed
himself for sleeping on the previous night, and losing so much
progress. Now he was determined to keep awake.
His resolution was carried out. His intense eagerness to reach some
shore, no matter where, and his fear of again losing what he had
gained, kept sleep from his eyes. All that night he watched his boat.
The wind blew fitfully, sometimes carrying the boat on rapidly, again
dying down.
So the next morning came.
It was Thursday.
It was Monday night when he had drifted out, and all that time he had
been on the deep, lost in the fog.
And now, wearied, dejected, and utterly worn out, he looked around in
despair, and wondered where this would end. Fog was everywhere, as
before, and, as before, not a thing could be seen.
Hours passed on; the wind had sprang up fresh, and the boat went on
rapidly.
Suddenly Tom sprang upright, and uttered a loud cry.
There full before him he saw a giant cliff, towering far overhead,
towards which the boat was sailing. At its base the waves were
dashing. Over its brow trees were bending. In the air far above he
heard the hoarse cries of sea-gulls.
In his madness he let the boat drive straight on, and was close to it
before he thought of his danger. He could not avoid it now, however,
for he did not know how to turn the boat. On it went, and in a few
moments struck the beach at the base of the cliff.
The tide was high; the breeze was moderate, and there was but little
sun. The boat was not injured by running ashore there. Tom jumped
out, and, taking the rope in his hands, walked along the rough and
stony beach for about a hundred yards, pulling the boat after him.
There the cliff was succeeded by a steep slope, beyond which was a
gentle, grass-grown declivity. Towards this he bent his now feeble
steps, still tugging at the boat, and drawing it after him.
At length he reached the grassy slope, and found here a rough beach.
He fastened the boat securely to the trunk of a tree that grew near.
Then he lifted out the box of biscuit, and over this he threw the sail.
He stood for a few moments on the bank, and looked all around for signs
of some human habitation; but no signs appeared. Tom was too exhausted
to go in search of one. He had not slept for more than thirty hours.
The country that he saw was cleared. Hills were at a little distance,
but the fog which hung all around concealed everything from view. One
look was enough.
Overwhelmed with gratitude, he fell upon his knees, and offered up a
fervent prayer of thankfulness for his astonishing escape.
Then fatigue overpowered him, and, rolling himself up in the sail, he
went to sleep.