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
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
"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;
"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
"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.