Chapter 17

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?"

"Yes."

"She looks as if she had seen hard service?"

"Yes; both of us are the worse for wear."

The ice once broken, Mr. Hawke chimed in--"Have you a wife, Captain Rogers?"

"She's in the churchyard," with a decided growl.

"So much the better for Mrs. Rogers," whispered Lyndsay to Flora.

"You had better let the animal alone," said Flora in the same tone: "'Tis sworn to silence."

"Have you any family, Captain Rogers?" recommenced the incorrigible Hawke.

"Ay; more than's good."

"Girls, or boys?"

"What's that to you? Too many of both. Why do you call me Captain? You knows well enough that I'm not a captain; never was a captain, and never wants to be."

After this rebuff, the surly Rogers was left to smoke his short black pipe in peace, and in a few minutes the little boat came alongside the huge Leviathan of the deep. A rope was thrown from her deck, which having been secured, the following brief dialogue ensued:

"The _City of Edinburgh_, for Edinburgh?"

"The _Queen of Scotland_, for Aberdeen, Captain Fraser."

This announcement was followed by a look of blank astonishment and disappointment from the party in the boat.

"Where is the _City of Edinburgh_?"

"We left her in the river. You had better take a passage with us to Aberdeen," said Captain Fraser, advancing to the side of his vessel.

"Two hundred miles out of my way," said Lyndsay. "Fall off." The tow rope was cast loose, and the floating castle resumed her thundering course, leaving the party in the boat greatly disconcerted by the misadventure.

"The _City of Edinburgh_ must soon be here?" said Lyndsay, addressing himself once more to Sam Rogers. That sociable individual continued smoking his short pipe without deigning to notice the speaker. "Had we not better lay-to, and wait for her coming up?"

"No; we should be run down by her. Do you see yon?" pointing with his pipe, to a grey cloud that was rolling over the surface of the sea towards them; "that's the sea rake--in three minutes: in less than three minutes, you will not be able to discern objects three yards beyond your nose."

"Pleasant news," said Mr. Hawke, with rather a dolorous sigh. "This may turn out as bad as our last scrape. Lyndsay, you are an unlucky fellow. If you go on as you have begun, it will be some months before you reach Canada."

In less time than the old man had prognosticated, the dense fog had rapidly spread itself over the water, blotting the sun from the heavens, and enfolding every object in its chilly embrace. The shores faded from their view, the very ocean on which they floated, was heard, but no longer seen. Nature seemed to have lost her identity, covered with that white sheet, which enveloped her like a shroud. Flora strove in vain to pierce the thick misty curtain by which they were surrounded. Her whole world was now confined to the little boat and the persons it contained: the rest of creation had become a blank. The fog wetted like rain, and was more penetrating, and the constant efforts she made to see through it, made her eyes and head ache, and cast a damp upon her spirits which almost amounted to despondency.

"What is to be done?" asked Lyndsay, who shared the same feelings in common with his wife.

"Nothing, that I know of," responded Sam Rogers, "but to return."

As he spoke a dark shadow loomed through the fog, which proved to be a small trading vessel, bound from London to Yarmouth. The sailors hailed her, and with some difficulty ran the boat alongside.

"Have you passed the _City of Edinburgh_?"

"We spake her in the river. She ran foul of the _Courier_ steamer, and unshipped her rudder. She put back for repairs, and won't be down till to-morrow morning."

"The devil!" muttered Sam Rogers.

"Agreeable tidings for us," sighed Flora. "This is worse than the storm; it is so unexpected. I should be quite disheartened, did I not believe that Providence directed these untoward events."

"I am inclined to be of your opinion, Flora," said Lyndsay, "in spite of my disbelief in signs and omens. There is something beyond mere accident in this second disappointment."

"Is it not a solemn warning to us, not to leave England?" said Flora.

"I was certain that would be your interpretation of the matter," returned her husband; "but having put my hand to the plough, Flora, I will not turn back."

The sailors now took to their oars, the dead calm precluding the use of the sail, and began to steer their course homewards. The fog was so dense and bewildering that they made little way, and the long day was spent in wandering to and fro without being able to ascertain where they were.

"Hark!" cried one of the men, laying his ear to the side of the boat, "I hear the flippers of the steamer."

"It is the roar of the accursed _Barnet_," cried the other. "I know its voice of old, having twice been wrecked upon the reef--we must change our course; we are on a wrong tack altogether."

It was near midnight before a breeze sprang up and dispelled the ominous fog. The moon showed her wan face through the driving scud, the sail was at last hoisted, and cold and hungry, and sick at heart, our voyagers once more returned to their old port.

This time, however, the beach was silent and deserted. No friendly voice welcomed them back. Old Kitson looked cross at being roused out of his bed at one o'clock in the morning, to admit them into the house, muttering as he did so, something about "unlucky folks, and the deal of trouble they gave; that they had better give up going to Canada altogether, and hire their old lodgings again; that it was no joke, having his rest broken at his time of life; that he could not afford to keep open house at all hours, for people who were in no ways related to him."

With such consoling expressions of sympathy in their forlorn condition, did the hard, worldly old man proceed to unlock the door of their former domicile; but food, lights, and firing, he would not produce, until Lyndsay had promised ample remuneration for the same.

Exhausted in mind and body, for she had not broken her fast since eight o'clock that morning, Flora for a long time refused to partake of the warm cup of tea her loving partner had made with his own hands for her especial benefit; and her tears continued to fall involuntarily over the sleeping babe which lay upon her lap.

Mr. Hawke saw that her nerves were completely unstrung by fatigue, and ran across the green, and called up Flora's nurse to take charge of the infant.

Mrs. Clarke, kind creature that she was, instantly hurried to the house to do what she could for the mother and child. Little Josey was soon well warmed and fed, and Flora smiled through her tears, when her husband made his appearance.

"Come, Flora," he cried, "you are ill for the want of food,--I am going to make some sandwiches for you, and you must be a good girl and eat them, or I will never cater for you again."

Mr. Hawke exerted all his powers of drollery to enliven the miscellaneous meal, and Flora soon retired to rest, fully determined to bear the crosses of life with more fortitude for the future.

The sun was not above the horizon, when she was roused, however, from a deep sleep, by the stentorian voice of old Kitson, who, anxious to get rid of his troublesome visitors, cried out, with great glee,--"Hallo! I say--here is the right steamer at last.--Better late than never. The red flag is hoisted at her stern; and she is standing right in for the bay. Quick! Quick, _Leaftenant_ Lyndsay! or you'll be too late."

With all possible despatch Flora dressed herself, though baffled by anxiety from exerting unusual celerity. The business of the toilet had to be performed in such a brief space, that it was impossible to attend to it with any nicety. At last all was completed; Flora hurried down to the beach, with Hannah and Mrs. Clarke, James Hawke and Lyndsay having preceded them to arrange their passage to the steamer.

"Make haste, Mrs. Lyndsay," shouted old Kitson; "these big dons wait for no one. I have got all your trunks stowed away into the boat, and the lads are waiting. If you miss your passage the third time, you may give it up as a bad job."

In a few minutes Flora was seated in the boat, uncheered by any parting blessing but the cold farewell, and for ever, of old Captain Kitson, who could scarcely conceal the joy he felt at their departure. The morning was wet and misty, and altogether comfortless, and Flora was glad when the bustle of getting on board the steamer was over, and they were safe upon her deck.