In The Fog

: The Crusade Of The Excelsior

By noon of the following day the coast of the Peninsula of California

had been sighted to leeward. The lower temperature of the northwest

Trades had driven Mrs. Brimmer and Miss Chubb into their state-rooms to

consult their wardrobes in view of an impending change from the light

muslins and easy languid toilets of the Tropics. That momentous question

for the moment held all other topics in abeyance; and even Mrs. Markham

> and Miss Keene, though they still kept the deck, in shawls and wraps,

sighed over this feminine evidence of the gentle passing of their

summer holiday. The gentlemen had already mounted their pea-jackets

and overcoats, with the single exception of Senor Perkins, who, in

chivalrous compliment to the elements, still bared his unfettered throat

and forehead to the breeze. The aspect of the coast, as seen from the

Excelsior's deck, seemed to bear out Mr. Banks' sweeping indictment of

the day before. A few low, dome-like hills, yellow and treeless as

sand dunes, scarcely raised themselves above the horizon. The air, too,

appeared to have taken upon itself a dry asperity; the sun shone with a

hard, practical brilliancy. Miss Keene raised her eyes to Senor Perkins

with a pretty impatience that she sometimes indulged in, as one of the

privileges of accepted beauty and petted youth.

"I don't think much of your peninsula," she said poutingly. "It looks

dreadfully flat and uninteresting. It was a great deal nicer on the

other coast, or even at sea."

"Perhaps you are judging hastily, my dear young friend," said Senor

Perkins, with habitual tolerance. "I have heard that behind those hills,

and hidden from sight in some of the canyons, are perfect little Edens

of beauty and fruitfulness. They are like some ardent natures that cover

their approaches with the ashes of their burnt-up fires, but only do it

the better to keep intact their glowing, vivifying, central heat."

"How very poetical, Mr. Perkins!" said Mrs. Markham, with blunt

admiration. "You ought to put that into verse."

"I have," returned Senor Perkins modestly. "They are some reflections

on--I hardly dare call them an apostrophe to--the crater of Colima. If

you will permit me to read them to you this evening, I shall be charmed.

I hope also to take that opportunity of showing you the verses of a

gifted woman, not yet known to fame, Mrs. Euphemia M'Corkle, of Peoria,


Mrs. Markham coughed slightly. The gifted M'Corkle was already known to

her through certain lines quoted by the Senor; and the entire cabin had

one evening fled before a larger and more ambitious manuscript of the

fair Illinoisian. Miss Keene, who dreaded the reappearance of this

poetical phantom that seemed to haunt the Senor's fancy, could not,

however, forget that she had been touched on that occasion by a kindly

moisture of eye and tremulousness of voice in the reader; and, in spite

of the hopeless bathos of the composition, she had forgiven him. Though

she did not always understand Senor Perkins, she liked him too well to

allow him to become ridiculous to others; and at the present moment she

promptly interposed with a charming assumption of coquetry.

"You forget that you promised to let ME read the manuscript first, and

in private, and that you engaged to give me my revenge at chess this

evening. But do as you like. You are all fast becoming faithless. I

suppose it is because our holiday is drawing to a close, and we shall

soon forget we ever had any, or be ashamed we ever played so long.

Everybody seems to be getting nervous and fidgety and preparing for

civilization again. Mr. Banks, for the last few days, has dressed

himself regularly as if he were going down town to his office,

and writes letters in the corner of the saloon as if it were a

counting-house. Mr. Crosby and Mr. Winslow do nothing but talk of their

prospects, and I believe they are drawing up articles of partnership

together. Here is Mr. Brace frightening me by telling me that my brother

will lock me up, to keep the rich miners from laying their bags of

gold dust at my feet; and Mrs. Brimmer and Miss Chubb assure me that I

haven't a decent gown to go ashore in."

"You forget Mr. Hurlstone," said Brace, with ill-concealed bitterness;

"he seems to have time enough on his hands, and I dare say would

sympathize with you. You women like idle men."

"If we do, it's because only the idle men have the time to amuse us,"

retorted Miss Keene. "But," she added, with a laugh, "I suppose I'm

getting nervous and fidgety myself; for I find myself every now and

then watching the officers and men, and listening to the orders as if

something were going to happen again. I never felt so before; I never

used to have the least concern in what you call 'the working of the

ship,' and now"--her voice, which had been half playful, half pettish,

suddenly became grave,--"and now--look at the mate and those men

forward. There certainly is something going on, or is going to happen.

What ARE they looking at?"

The mate had clambered halfway up the main ratlines, and was looking

earnestly to windward. Two or three of the crew on the forecastle were

gazing in the same direction. The group of cabin-passengers on the

quarterdeck, following their eyes, saw what appeared to be another low

shore on the opposite bow.

"Why, there's another coast there!" said Mrs. Markham.

"It's a fog-bank," said Senor Perkins gravely. He quickly crossed the

deck, exchanged a few words with the officer, and returned. Miss Keene,

who had felt a sense of relief, nevertheless questioned his face as he

again stood beside her. But he had recovered his beaming cheerfulness.

"It's nothing to alarm you," he said, answering her glance, "but it may

mean delay if we can't get out of it. You don't mind that, I know."

"No," replied the young girl, smiling. "Besides, it would be a new

experience. We've had winds and calms--we only want fog now to complete

our adventures. Unless it's going to make everybody cross," she

continued, with a mischievous glance at Brace.

"You'll find it won't improve the temper of the officers," said Crosby,

who had joined the group. "There's nothing sailors hate more than a fog.

They can go to sleep in a hurricane between the rolls of a ship, but a

fog keeps them awake. It's the one thing they can't shirk. There's the

skipper tumbled up, too! The old man looks wrathy, don't he? But it's no

use now; we're going slap into it, and the wind's failing!"

It was true. In the last few moments all that vast glistening surface of

metallic blue which stretched so far to windward appeared to be slowly

eaten away as if by some dull, corroding acid; the distant horizon line

of sea and sky was still distinct and sharply cut, but the whole water

between them had grown gray, as if some invisible shadow had passed in

mid-air across it. The actual fog bank had suddenly lost its resemblance

to the shore, had lifted as a curtain, and now seemed suspended over the

ship. Gradually it descended; the top-gallant and top-sails were lost

in this mysterious vapor, yet the horizon line still glimmered faintly.

Then another mist seemed to rise from the sea and meet it; in another

instant the deck whereon they stood shrank to the appearance of a

raft adrift in a faint gray sea. With the complete obliteration of all

circumambient space, the wind fell. Their isolation was complete.

It was notable that the first and most peculiar effect of this misty

environment was the absolute silence. The empty, invisible sails above

did not flap; the sheets and halyards hung limp; even the faint creaking

of an unseen block overhead was so startling as to draw every eye

upwards. Muffled orders from viewless figures forward were obeyed by

phantoms that moved noiselessly through the gray sea that seemed to have

invaded the deck. Even the passengers spoke in whispers, or held their

breath, in passive groups, as if fearing to break a silence so replete

with awe and anticipation. It was next noticed that the vessel was

subjected to some vague motion; the resistance of the water had ceased,

the waves no longer hissed under her bows, or nestled and lapped under

her counter; a dreamy, irregular, and listless rocking had taken the

place of the regular undulations; at times, a faint and half delicious

vertigo seemed to overcome their senses; the ship was drifting.

Captain Bunker stood near the bitts, where his brief orders were

transmitted to the man at the almost useless wheel. At his side Senor

Perkins beamed with unshaken serenity, and hopefully replied to the

captain's half surly, half anxious queries.

"By the chart we should be well east of Los Lobos island, d'ye see?"

he said impatiently. "You don't happen to remember the direction of the

current off shore when you were running up here?"

"It's five years ago," said the Senor modestly; "but I remember we kept

well to the west to weather Cape St. Eugenio. My impression is that

there was a strong northwesterly current setting north of Ballenos Bay."

"And we're in it now," said Captain Bunker shortly. "How near St. Roque

does it set?"

"Within a mile or two. I should keep away more to the west," said Senor

Perkins, "and clear"--

"I ain't asking you to run the ship," interrupted Captain Bunker

sharply. "How's her head now, Mr. Brooks?"

The seamen standing near cast a rapid glance at Senor Perkins, but not

a muscle of his bland face moved or betrayed a consciousness of the

insult. Whatever might have been the feeling towards him, at that

moment the sailors--after their fashion--admired their captain; strong,

masterful, and imperious. The danger that had cleared his eye, throat,

and brain, and left him once more the daring and skillful navigator they

knew, wiped out of their shallow minds the vicious habit that had sunk

him below their level.

It had now become perceptible to even the inexperienced eyes of the

passengers that the Excelsior was obeying some new and profound impulse.

The vague drifting had ceased, and in its place had come a mysterious

but regular movement, in which the surrounding mist seemed to

participate, until fog and vessel moved together towards some unseen but

well-defined bourne. In vain had the boats of the Excelsior, manned

by her crew, endeavored with a towing-line to check or direct the

inexplicable movement; in vain had Captain Bunker struggled, with all

the skilled weapons of seamanship, against his invincible foe; wrapped

in the impenetrable fog, the ship moved ghost-like to what seemed to be

her doom.

The anxiety of the officers had not as yet communicated itself to the

passengers; those who had been most nervous in the ordinary onset of

wind and wave looked upon the fog as a phenomenon whose only disturbance

might be delay. To Miss Keene this conveyed no annoyance; rather that

placid envelopment of cloud soothed her fancy; she submitted herself to

its soft embraces, and to the mysterious onward movement of the ship,

as if it were part of a youthful dream. Once she thought of the ship

of Sindbad, and that fatal loadstone mountain, with an awe that was,

however, half a pleasure.

"You are not frightened, Miss Keene?" said a voice near her.

She started slightly. It was the voice of Mr. Hurlstone. So thick was

the fog that his face and figure appeared to come dimly out of it, like

a part of her dreaming fancy. Without replying to his question, she said


"You are better then, Mr. Hurlstone? We--we were all so frightened for


An angry shadow crossed his thin face, and he hesitated. After a pause

he recovered himself, and said,--

"I was saying you were taking all this very quietly. I don't think

there's much danger myself. And if we should go ashore here"--

"Well?" suggested Miss Keene, ignoring this first intimation of danger

in her surprise at the man's manner.

"Well, we should all be separated only a few days earlier, that's all!"

More frightened at the strange bitterness of his voice than by the

sense of physical peril, she was vaguely moving away towards the dimly

outlined figures of her companions when she was arrested by a voice

forward. There was a slight murmur among the passengers.

"What did he say?" asked Miss Keene, "What are 'Breakers ahead'?"

Hurlstone did not reply.

"Where away?" asked a second voice.

The murmur still continuing, Captain Bunker's hoarse voice pierced the

gloom,--"Silence fore and aft!"

The first voice repeated faintly,--

"On the larboard bow."

There was another silence. Again the voice repeated, as if



"Where away?"

"On the starboard beam."

"We are in some passage or channel," said Hurlstone quietly.

The young girl glanced round her and saw for the first time that, in

one of those inexplicable movements she had not understood, the other

passengers had been withdrawn into a limited space of the deck, as if

through some authoritative orders, while she and her companion had been

evidently overlooked. A couple of sailors, who had suddenly taken their

positions by the quarter-boats, strengthened the accidental separation.

"Is there some one taking care of you?" he asked, half hesitatingly;

"Mr. Brace--Perkins--or"--

"No," she replied quickly. "Why?"

"Well, we are very near the boat in an emergency, and you might allow me

to stay here and see you safe in it."

"But the other ladies? Mrs. Markham, and"--

"They'll take their turn after YOU," he said grimly, picking up a wrap

from the railing and throwing it over her shoulders.

"But--I don't understand!" she stammered, more embarrassed by the

situation than by any impending peril.

"There is very little danger, I think," he added impatiently. "There is

scarcely any sea; the ship has very little way on; and these breakers

are not over rocks. Listen."

She tried to listen. At first she heard nothing but the occasional low

voice of command near the wheel. Then she became conscious of a gentle,

soothing murmur through the fog to the right. She had heard such a

murmuring accompaniment to her girlish dreams at Newport on a still

summer night. There was nothing to frighten her, but it increased her


"And you?" she said awkwardly, raising her soft eyes.

"Oh, if you are all going off in the boats, by Jove, I think I'll stick

to the ship!" he returned, with a frankness that would have been rude

but for its utter abstraction.

Miss Keene was silent. The ship moved gently onward. The monotonous cry

of the leadsman in the chains was the only sound audible. The soundings

were indicating shoaler water, although the murmuring of the surf had

been left far astern. The almost imperceptible darkening of the mist

on either beam seemed to show that the Excelsior was entering some

land-locked passage. The movement of the vessel slackened, the tide was

beginning to ebb. Suddenly a wave of far-off clamor, faint but sonorous,

broke across the ship. There was an interval of breathless silence, and

then it broke again, and more distinctly. It was the sound of bells!

The thrill of awe which passed through passengers and crew at this

spiritual challenge from the vast and intangible void around them had

scarcely subsided when the captain turned to Senor Perkins with a look

of surly interrogation. The Senor brushed his hat further back on his

head, wiped his brow, and became thoughtful.

"It's too far south for Rosario," he said deprecatingly; "and the only

other mission I know of is San Carlos, and that's far inland. But that

is the Angelus, and those are mission bells, surely."

The captain turned to Mr. Brooks. The voice of invisible command again

passed along the deck, and, with a splash in the water and the rattling

of chains, the Excelsior swung slowly round on her anchor on the bosom

of what seemed a placid bay.

Miss Keene, who, in her complete absorption, had listened to the

phantom bells with an almost superstitious exaltation, had forgotten the

presence of her companion, and now turned towards him. But he was gone.

The imminent danger he had spoken of, half slightingly, he evidently

considered as past. He had taken the opportunity offered by the slight

bustle made by the lowering of the quarter-boat and the departure of the

mate on a voyage of discovery to mingle with the crowd, and regain his

state-room. With the anchoring of the vessel, the momentary restraint

was relaxed, the passengers were allowed to pervade the deck, and Mrs.

Markham and Mr. Brace simultaneously rushed to Miss Keene's side.

"We were awfully alarmed for you, my dear," said Mrs. Markham, "until

we saw you had a protector. Do tell me--what DID he say? He must have

thought the danger great to have broken the Senor's orders and come upon

deck? What did he talk about?"

With a vivid recollection in her mind of Mr. Hurlstone's contemptuous

ignoring of the other ladies, Miss Keene became slightly embarrassed.

Her confusion was not removed by the consciousness that the jealous eyes

of Brace were fixed upon her.

"Perhaps he thought it was night, and walked upon deck in his sleep,"

remarked Brace sarcastically. "He's probably gone back to bed."

"He offered me his protection very politely, and begged to remain to put

me in the boat in case of danger," said Miss Keene, recovering herself,

and directing her reply to Mrs. Markham. "I think that others have made

me the same kind of offer--who were wide awake," she added mischievously

to Brace.

"I wouldn't be too sure that they were not foolishly dreaming too,"

returned Brace, in a lower voice.

"I should think we all were asleep or dreaming here," said Mrs. Markham

briskly. "Nobody seems to know where we are, and the only man who might

guess it--Senor Perkins--has gone off in the boat with the mate."

"We're not a mile from shore and a Catholic church," said Crosby, who

had joined them. "I just left Mrs. Brimmer, who is very High Church, you

know, quite overcome by these Angelus bells. She's been entreating the

captain to let her go ashore for vespers. It wouldn't be a bad idea, if

we could only see what sort of a place we've got to. It wouldn't do to

go feeling round the settlement in the dark--would it? Hallo! what's

that? Oh, by Jove, that'll finish Mrs. Brimmer, sure!"

"Hush!" said Miss Keene impulsively.

He stopped. The long-drawn cadence of a chant in thin clear soprano

voices swept through the fog from the invisible shore, rose high above

the ship, and then fell, dying away with immeasurable sweetness and

melancholy. Even when it had passed, a lingering melody seemed to

fill the deck. Two or three of the foreign sailors crossed themselves

devoutly; the other passengers withheld their speech, and looked at each

other. Afraid to break the charm by speech, they listened again, but in

vain an infinite repose followed that seemed to pervade everything.

It was broken, at last, by the sound of oars in their rowlocks; the boat

was returning. But it was noticed that the fog had slightly lifted

from the surface of the water, for the boat was distinctly visible two

cables' length from the ship as she approached; and it was seen that

besides the first officer and Senor Perkins there were two strangers

in the boat. Everybody rushed to the side for a nearer view of those

strange inhabitants of the unknown shore; but the boat's crew suddenly

ceased rowing, and lay on their oars until an indistinct hail and

reply passed between the boat and ship. There was a bustle forward, an

unexpected thunder from the Excelsior's eight-pounder at the bow

port; Captain Bunker and the second mate ranged themselves at the

companionway, and the passengers for the first time became aware that

they were participating at the reception of visitors of distinction, as

two strange and bizarre figures stepped upon the deck.