IN THE FOG.
Leopold parted with his friend opposite the Sea Cliff House. He entered
the office, where his father was busy in conversation with one of the
guests. Luckily the landlord, satisfied with the safety of his son, did
not ask him where he had been; for his absence on the water was too
common an event to excite any remark, and Leopold went to bed as soon as
he had shown himself to his mother, and told her that the squall had not
harmed him. It is one thing to go to bed, and quite another to sleep.
Leopold was tired enough to need rest, yet his future action in regard
to the hidden treasure did not allow him to do anything but think,
think, think, till he heard the church clock strike twelve. That was the
last he heard that night. But with all his thinking, his opinion was
just the same as before. The money did not belong to him, and it did
belong to somebody else. He could not escape these two conclusions, and
whether his father failed or not, he could see no way by which he could
honestly bring the twelve hundred dollars in gold to his aid.
Coming events pressed so heavily upon the minds of his father and
Stumpy, that neither of them had questioned him very closely in regard
to his business on the beach in the storm and the darkness. As he had
thus far escaped without telling any direct lies, he decided to keep his
own secret for the present; but he intended, the very next time he went
to Rockland, to visit the owners of the Waldo, and inquire about the
passenger who had perished in the wreck of the brig. Very likely this
man had a wife and children, a father, or brothers and sisters, who
needed this money. His wife and little children might at that moment be
suffering for the want of it. It belonged to them, and they ought to
have it. Even if his father failed, and lost all he had, Leopold felt
that it would be better for him to do his whole duty. The secret was
with himself alone, and there was no one to applaud his noble decision;
nay, if he had told his friends and neighbors, and perhaps even his
father, they would probably have laughed at him, called him a fool,
declared that he was more nice than wise, and insisted that it was his
duty to save the Sea Cliff House from the avaricious grasp of Squire
Moses Wormbury.
In spite of his noble conclusion, he was still terribly worried about
the financial troubles of his father. The Rosabel was well worth two
hundred dollars, and she was almost the only piece of property in the
family which was not covered by a mortgage. It was early in the season,
when a boat is more salable than later in the year; and before he went
to sleep, Leopold had decided to run over to Rockland the next day, if
possible, and endeavor to find a purchaser for her, even at three
fourths of her value. It would be a happy moment for him if he could put
one hundred and fifty dollars into his father's hands, and thus enable
him to make up his interest money. There must be some one in Rockland
who wanted a boat, and who would be willing to pay him this price for
so fast and stiff a craft as the Rosabel. With this pleasant
anticipation in his mind, Leopold went to sleep.
He usually got up between four and five o'clock in the morning; but he
did not wake till he heard his father's voice in his chamber. He had
been so tired after the hard work he had done on the beach, and lying
awake till after midnight, he had overslept himself.
"Come, Leopold; it is after seven o'clock," said Mr. Bennington, in the
rather sad and gloomy tones which the misery of his financial trials had
imposed upon him.
"Seven o'clock!" exclaimed Leopold, leaping from the bed. "I didn't go
to sleep till after midnight, and that's the reason I didn't wake up."
"You needn't get up if you don't feel able to do so," added the
landlord.
"O, I'm able enough," protested Leopold, half dressed by this time.
"I should like to have you go down and see if you can get some fish for
dinner," added his father.
"All right. I will get some, if there is any in the sea," answered the
young man, as he finished his primitive toilet.
In fifteen minutes more, he had eaten his breakfast, and was descending
the steep path to the river, where the Rosabel was moored. The weather
was cloudy, and out at sea it looked as if the fog would roll in, within
a short time, as it often did during the spring and summer. Indeed, the
one bane of this coast, as a pleasure resort, is the prevalence of dense
and frequently long-continued fog. Sometimes it shrouds the shores for
several days at a time; and it has been known to last for weeks. It is
cold, penetrating, and disagreeable to the denizen of the city, seeking
ease and comfort in a summer home.
When the sloop passed Light House Point, Leopold saw that the dense fog
had settled down upon the bay, and had probably been there all night.
But he did not bother his head about the fog, for he knew the sound
which the waves made upon every portion of the shore. As one skilled in
music knows the note he hears, Leopold identified the swash or the roar
of the sea when it beat upon the rocks and the beaches in the vicinity.
By these sounds he knew where he was, and he had a boat-compass on board
of the Rosabel, which enabled him to lay his course, whenever he
obtained his bearings.
Before the sloop had gone a quarter of a mile she was buried in the fog,
and Leopold could see nothing but the little circle of water of which
the Rosabel was the centre. With the compass on the floor of the
standing-room, he headed the sloop for the ledges, outside of which he
expected to find plenty of cod and haddock. The wind was rather light,
but it was sufficient to give the Rosabel a good headway, and in half an
hour he recognized the roar of the billows upon the ledges. Going near
enough to them to bring the white spray of the breaking waves within the
narrow circle of his observation, he let off his main sheet, and headed
the sloop directly out to sea.
The best fishing ground at this season was about two miles from the
ledges; and with the wind free, Leopold calculated that he had made this
distance in half an hour. He had cleared away his cable, and had his
anchor ready to throw overboard, when the hoarse croaking of a fog-horn
attracted his attention. The sound came from the seaward side of him,
and from a point not far distant.
The Rosabel was provided with one of those delectable musical
instruments, whose familiar notes came to her skipper's ears. It was
rather a necessity to have one, in order to avoid collisions; besides,
it is fun for boys to make the most unearthly noises which mortal ear
ever listened to.
Leopold blew his fog-horn, and it was answered by a repetition of the
sound to seaward. The craft, whatever it was, from which the music came,
was much nearer than when the skipper of the Rosabel first heard the
signal. This satisfied him that she was headed to the north-east, and
was nearly close-hauled, for the wind was about east; in other words,
the craft from which the melody of the fog horn came was standing from
the sea directly towards the ledges off High Rock.
Leopold blew his horn again and again, and the responses came nearer and
nearer every time. The craft was evidently bound up the bay, or into
the Rockhaven river. If she was going to Rockland, or up the bay, she
was very much out of her course. If she was going into the river, she
was more likely to strike upon the ledge than to hit her port.
"Ahoy! Ahoy!" came a hoarse voice, apparently pitched from the note of
the fog-horn.
The skipper of the Rosabel judged that the craft was not more than an
eighth of a mile from him.
"Ahoy! Ahoy!" he shouted in reply, at the top of his voice.
Leopold had hauled down his jib, and thrown the sloop up into the wind,
in preparation for anchoring; but he concluded not to do so, in view of
the peril of being run down by the stranger. On the contrary he hoisted
his jib, and filled away again, so as to be in condition to avoid a
collision. Resuming his place at the helm, he stood out towards the
fog-hidden vessel. The hail was repeated again and again, and Leopold as
often answered it. In a few moments more he discovered what appeared to
him to be the jib of a schooner. Her bow was of shining black, with a
richly gilded figure-head under the bowsprit. A moment later he
discovered the two masts of the vessel. The mainsail was set, but the
foresail was furled, and she was apparently feeling her way with great
care into the bay. A sailor in uniform was heaving the lead near the
fore rigging.
Leopold saw, as soon as he obtained a full view of the vessel, that she
was a yacht of at least a hundred tons and as beautiful a craft as ever
gladdened the heart of a sailor. There were a dozen men on her
forecastle, and as the Rosabel approached her, a procession of
gentlemen, closely muffled in heavy garments and rubber coats, filed up
the companion-way, doubtless attracted to the deck by the incident of
hailing another craft.
"Schooner, ahoy!" shouted Leopold, as soon as he had made out the
vessel.
"On board the sloop!" replied the voice which resembled the tones of the
fog-horn.
"Where you bound?" demanded the skipper of the Rosabel.
"Belfast."
"You are a long way off your course, then," added Leopold, with
emphasis.
"Will you come on board?" asked the speaker from the yacht.
"Ay, ay, sir, if you wish it," answered Leopold.
"Hard down the helm!" shouted the hoarse voice, which we may as well say
in advance of a nearer introduction, belonged to Captain Bounce, the
sailing-master of the yacht.
"What schooner is that?" called Leopold, as the yacht came up into the
wind.
"The yacht Orion, of New York," replied Captain Bounce.
The skipper of the Rosabel ran under the lee of the Orion, and came up
into the wind all shaking. Leopold threw his painter to the uniformed
seamen of the yacht, and then hauled down his jib.
"Where are we?" asked Captain Bounce, rather nervously for an old salt.
"Two miles off the High Rock ledges; you were headed directly for them,"
replied Leopold, as he let go the halyards of the mainsail.
When he had secured the sail, he ascended the accommodation steps, which
the seaman had placed on the side for his use. One of the hands carried
the painter of the Rosabel to the stern of the Orion.
"I don't know where we are now," said Captain Bounce, who was a short,
stout man, with grizzly hair and beard, both reeking with moisture from
the fog; and he looked like the typical old sea-dog of the drama.
"Do you know where we are, young man?" asked one of the gentlemen who
had filed up the companion-way.
Leopold started suddenly when he heard the voice and turned towards the
speaker.
"Of course I do, Mr. Hamilton," replied Leopold, briskly. "I reckon you
don't know me, sir."
Leopold took off his old hat, and bowed respectfully to the gentleman,
who was muffled up in an immense overcoat with a long cape.
"I do not," added the Hon. Mr. Hamilton, with a puzzled expression.
The skipper of the Rosabel thought it was very strange that the
honorable gentleman did not recognize him; for he did not consider that
he had grown three inches taller himself, and that the distinguished
guest of the Cliff House met a great many people in the course of a
year.
"Don't you know my boat, sir?" asked Leopold, laughing as he pointed
astern at the sloop.
"I do not."
"Well, sir, that's the Rosabel. You have sailed in her more than once."
"O, this is Leopold, then!" exclaimed Mr. Hamilton. "You ought to know
where we are."
"I do, sir; and I know that you were headed for the High Rock ledges. I
can prick your position on the chart."
"He knows all about this coast, Captain Bounce," added Mr. Hamilton,
turning to the Sailing-master. "He will be a safe pilot for you."
"Well youngster, we are bound to Belfast," said the sailing-master,
thrusting his fists deep down into the pockets of his pea-jacket.
"I am not a pilot to Belfast," replied Leopold; "but you must keep her
west-half-north for Owl's Head, nine miles from here. There are islands
and ledges all around you."
"We have had enough of this sort of thing," interposed Mr. Hamilton,
evidently disgusted with his experience. "We have been feeling our way
in this fog for twenty-four hours. I would give a thousand dollars to be
in Belfast at this moment."
"I don't believe the best pilot on the coast would agree to take this
yacht up to Belfast in this fog for twice that sum," added Leopold. "One
of the Bangor steamers, that goes over the route every day, got aground
the other night."
"I never was on this coast before, Mr. Hamilton, as I told you before we
sailed from New York," said Captain Bounce, apologetically; "but if I
had been here all my life, I couldn't find my way in a sailing vessel in
such a fog as this."
"O, I don't blame you Captain Bounce," added Mr. Hamilton, who was the
owner of the yacht.
"I have kept you off the rocks so far; and that was the best I could
do."
"You have done all that anybody could do, Captain Bounce, and I have no
fault to find with you. But the ladies are very uncomfortable; they are
wet, and everything in the cabin is wet with the moisture of this fog.
We are very anxious to get to some good hotel, where we can remain till
the fog has blown away," continued Mr. Hamilton.
"You can go into Rockhaven, sir," suggested Leopold.
The Hon. Mr. Hamilton smiled gloomily, and shrugged his shoulders, for
he knew how limited were the accommodations in the old Cliff House.
"Your hotel would not hold us, Leopold," said Mr. Hamilton. "Our party
consists of fifteen persons. We must get into Rockland, some how or
other."
"We have a new hotel, Mr. Hamilton," interposed Leopold.
"What's that?"
"The Sea Cliff House. It is the Cliff House rebuilt and enlarged. We
have fifty rooms now, besides new parlors and a new dining-room. The
house has been furnished new, and my father means to keep a first-class
hotel. He has raised the price to three dollars a day, so that he can
afford to do so. We have some rooms built on purpose for you, sir."
"Indeed! But your father always kept a good house, though it was not big
enough."
"You won't find any better hotel in Rockland or Belfast than the Sea
Cliff House, Mr. Hamilton," said Leopold, confidently.
"Then let us go there by all means," added the owner of the Orion. "Can
you take the yacht into the harbor, Leopold?"
"I can sir."
"Are you sure?"
"Certainly I am."
"We don't want to be thrown on the rocks."
"I can go into the river with my eyes shut, any time, sir."
"Very well. Captain Bounce, here is your pilot."
"All right Mr. Hamilton. All his orders shall be obeyed," replied the
sailing-master.
"Hoist the jib, then, if you please, and head her to the north-east,"
added Leopold.
"To the north-east!" exclaimed Captain Bounce. "You said the ledges were
in that direction."
"I know they are; but I can tell just where to find them."
"We are not anxious to find them," added the sailing-master.
"I am, for I take my bearings from them. Trust me as your best friend,
Captain Bounce, and you shall throw over your mud-hook, in just an hour
from now, in the river, off Rockhaven."
"All right; the owner says you are the pilot, and I haven't a word to
say," replied the captain. "Forward there! Hoist the jib! At the helm!"
"Helm, sir!" replied the quarter-master.
"Keep her north-east."
"North-east, sir."
Leopold turned at that moment, and discovered a bundle of shawls and
water-proofs emerging from the companion-way.
"Leopold Bennington! I'm glad to see you!" exclaimed the bundle, in a
voice which the young pilot promptly identified as that of Miss Rosabel
Hamilton.
"Thank you, Miss Hamilton. I'm happy to see you again," stammered
Leopold, rushing up to the bundle, in which he could hardly make out the
beautiful face and form of Rosabel.
"You have come to get us out of an awful bad scrape. We have no fire in
the cabin, and are wet through, and nearly frozen. I'm so glad we met
you!"
"I'm glad to meet you too," said Leopold. "I'm sure I didn't expect to
see you out in this fog. But I'm the pilot of this yacht now and if you
will excuse me, I will go forward, and attend to my duty."
"Certainly. Don't let me keep you," answered Rosabel, in those sweet,
silvery tones which made Leopold's heart jump. "I shall be so glad when
we can see a good, warm fire!"
The young pilot did not like to leave her; but he felt the
responsibility of the position he had assumed, and he hastened forward.
The Orion was moving along through the water at the rate of about four
knots an hour. Leopold walked out on the bowsprit as far as the jibstay,
and there seated himself. Rosabel, apparently deeply interested in his
movements, followed him as far as the forecastle.
"What are you going to do out there, Leopold?" she asked.
"I'm going to keep a lookout for the ledges, which are ahead of us; and
as I have to use my ears, I must ask you not to speak to me any more.
Excuse me, but I might not hear the breakers soon enough, if I were
talking," added the pilot.
Rosabel excused him, and returned to the cabin, for the cold fog made
her shiver, even within her bundle of clothing. Leopold listened with
all his might, and in less than half an hour he heard the surges on the
ledges, faintly, at first, in the distance.
"Breakers ahead!" shouted Captain Bounce.
"I know it; trust your best friend and don't be alarmed," replied
Leopold. "There is water enough here to float a seventy-four."
He allowed the Orion to proceed on her course, till he could hear very
distinctly the breakers on the ledges, and was sure they were the High
Rock ledges.
"Starboard the helm, and start your sheets," shouted the pilot.
"High time, I should say," growled Captain Bounce, as he gave the
necessary orders, and the Orion fell off to her new course.
"Keep her north-west," added Leopold, as he just saw the ledges whitened
with sea foam.
He still retained his position on the bowsprit, with his attention fixed
upon some point on the weather-bow.
"That's it! Dip point!" said he, as he listened to the breakers. "Keep
her nor'-nor'-west!"
Ten minutes later, he ordered the fog-horn to be blown, and a reply came
off from the light-house on the point, at the mouth of the river. When
the Orion was clear of the point, he directed the yacht to be
close-hauled on the starboard tack, in order to beat into the river. The
first reach brought her to the high cliff near the hotel, and after a
"short leg," he fetched the anchorage off the wharf.
"Let go your jib-halyards!" shouted Leopold. "Hard down the helm! Let go
the anchor!"
The Orion swung round to her cable, and the pilot went aft.