The Crusade of the Excelsior

by Bret Harte

  CHAPTER IV.

  IN THE FOG.

  By noon of the following day the coast of the Peninsula of Californiahad been sighted to leeward. The lower temperature of the northwestTrades had driven Mrs. Brimmer and Miss Chubb into their state-rooms toconsult their wardrobes in view of an impending change from the lightmuslins and easy languid toilets of the Tropics. That momentous questionfor the moment held all other topics in abeyance; and even Mrs. Markhamand Miss Keene, though they still kept the deck, in shawls and wraps,sighed over this feminine evidence of the gentle passing of theirsummer holiday. The gentlemen had already mounted their pea-jacketsand overcoats, with the single exception of Senor Perkins, who, inchivalrous compliment to the elements, still bared his unfettered throatand forehead to the breeze. The aspect of the coast, as seen from theExcelsior's deck, seemed to bear out Mr. Banks' sweeping indictment ofthe day before. A few low, dome-like hills, yellow and treeless assand dunes, scarcely raised themselves above the horizon. The air, too,appeared to have taken upon itself a dry asperity; the sun shone with ahard, practical brilliancy. Miss Keene raised her eyes to Senor Perkinswith a pretty impatience that she sometimes indulged in, as one of theprivileges of accepted beauty and petted youth.

  "I don't think much of your peninsula," she said poutingly. "It looksdreadfully flat and uninteresting. It was a great deal nicer on theother coast, or even at sea."

  "Perhaps you are judging hastily, my dear young friend," said SenorPerkins, with habitual tolerance. "I have heard that behind those hills,and hidden from sight in some of the canyons, are perfect little Edensof beauty and fruitfulness. They are like some ardent natures that covertheir approaches with the ashes of their burnt-up fires, but only do itthe better to keep intact their glowing, vivifying, central heat."

  "How very poetical, Mr. Perkins!" said Mrs. Markham, with bluntadmiration. "You ought to put that into verse."

  "I have," returned Senor Perkins modestly. "They are some reflectionson--I hardly dare call them an apostrophe to--the crater of Colima. Ifyou 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 agifted woman, not yet known to fame, Mrs. Euphemia M'Corkle, of Peoria,Illinois."

  Mrs. Markham coughed slightly. The gifted M'Corkle was already known toher through certain lines quoted by the Senor; and the entire cabin hadone evening fled before a larger and more ambitious manuscript of thefair Illinoisian. Miss Keene, who dreaded the reappearance of thispoetical phantom that seemed to haunt the Senor's fancy, could not,however, forget that she had been touched on that occasion by a kindlymoisture of eye and tremulousness of voice in the reader; and, in spiteof the hopeless bathos of the composition, she had forgiven him. Thoughshe did not always understand Senor Perkins, she liked him too well toallow him to become ridiculous to others; and at the present moment shepromptly interposed with a charming assumption of coquetry.

  "You forget that you promised to let ME read the manuscript first, andin private, and that you engaged to give me my revenge at chess thisevening. But do as you like. You are all fast becoming faithless. Isuppose it is because our holiday is drawing to a close, and we shallsoon forget we ever had any, or be ashamed we ever played so long.Everybody seems to be getting nervous and fidgety and preparing forcivilization again. Mr. Banks, for the last few days, has dressedhimself regularly as if he were going down town to his office,and writes letters in the corner of the saloon as if it were acounting-house. Mr. Crosby and Mr. Winslow do nothing but talk of theirprospects, and I believe they are drawing up articles of partnershiptogether. Here is Mr. Brace frightening me by telling me that my brotherwill lock me up, to keep the rich miners from laying their bags ofgold dust at my feet; and Mrs. Brimmer and Miss Chubb assure me that Ihaven'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 wouldsympathize 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'mgetting nervous and fidgety myself; for I find myself every now andthen watching the officers and men, and listening to the orders as ifsomething were going to happen again. I never felt so before; I neverused to have the least concern in what you call 'the working of theship,' and now"--her voice, which had been half playful, half pettish,suddenly became grave,--"and now--look at the mate and those menforward. 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 lookingearnestly to windward. Two or three of the crew on the forecastle weregazing in the same direction. The group of cabin-passengers on thequarterdeck, following their eyes, saw what appeared to be another lowshore 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 thedeck, exchanged a few words with the officer, and returned. Miss Keene,who had felt a sense of relief, nevertheless questioned his face as heagain stood beside her. But he had recovered his beaming cheerfulness."It's nothing to alarm you," he said, answering her glance, "but it maymean 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 newexperience. We've had winds and calms--we only want fog now to completeour adventures. Unless it's going to make everybody cross," shecontinued, 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 afog keeps them awake. It's the one thing they can't shirk. There's theskipper tumbled up, too! The old man looks wrathy, don't he? But it's nouse 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 ofmetallic blue which stretched so far to windward appeared to be slowlyeaten away as if by some dull, corroding acid; the distant horizon lineof sea and sky was still distinct and sharply cut, but the whole waterbetween them had grown gray, as if some invisible shadow had passed inmid-air across it. The actual fog bank had suddenly lost its resemblanceto the shore, had lifted as a curtain, and now seemed suspended over theship. Gradually it descended; the top-gallant and top-sails were lostin this mysterious vapor, yet the horizon line still glimmered faintly.Then another mist seemed to rise from the sea and meet it; in anotherinstant the deck whereon they stood shrank to the appearance of araft adrift in a faint gray sea. With the complete obliteration of allcircumambient space, the wind fell. Their isolation was complete.

  It was notable that the first and most peculiar effect of this mistyenvironment was the absolute silence. The empty, invisible sails abovedid not flap; the sheets and halyards hung limp; even the faint creakingof an unseen block overhead was so startling as to draw every eyeupwards. Muffled orders from viewless figures forward were obeyed byphantoms that moved noiselessly through the gray sea that seemed to haveinvaded the deck. Even the passengers spoke in whispers, or held theirbreath, in passive groups, as if fearing to break a silence so repletewith awe and anticipation. It was next noticed that the vessel wassubjected to some vague motion; the resistance of the water had ceased,the waves no longer hissed under her bows, or nestled and lapped underher counter; a dreamy, irregular, and listless rocking had taken theplace of the regular undulations; at times, a faint and half deliciousvertigo seemed to overcome their senses; the ship was drifting.

  Captain Bunker stood near the bitts, where his brief orders weretransmitted to the man at the almost useless wheel. At his side SenorPerkins beamed with unshaken serenity, and hopefully replied to thecaptain'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 thecurrent off shore when you were running up here?"

  "It's five years ago," said the Senor modestly; "but I remember we keptwell to the west to weather Cape St. Eugenio. My impression is thatthere was a strong northwesterly current setting north of Ballenos Bay."

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

  "Within a mile or two. I should keep away more to the west," said SenorPerkins, "and clear"--

  "I ain't asking you to run the ship," interrupted Captain Bunkersharply. "How's her head now, Mr. Brooks?"

  The seamen standing near cast a rapid glance at Senor Perkins, but nota muscle of his bland face moved or betrayed a consciousness of theinsult. Whatever might have been the feeling towards him, at thatmoment 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 theyknew, wiped out of their shallow minds the vicious habit that had sunkhim below their level.

  It had now become perceptible to even the inexperienced eyes of thepassengers that the Excelsior was obeying some new and profound impulse.The vague drifting had ceased, and in its place had come a mysteriousbut regular movement, in which the surrounding mist seemed toparticipate, until fog and vessel moved together towards some unseen butwell-defined bourne. In vain had the boats of the Excelsior, mannedby her crew, endeavored with a towing-line to check or direct theinexplicable movement; in vain had Captain Bunker struggled, with allthe skilled weapons of seamanship, against his invincible foe; wrappedin the impenetrable fog, the ship moved ghost-like to what seemed to beher doom.

  The anxiety of the officers had not as yet communicated itself to thepassengers; those who had been most nervous in the ordinary onset ofwind and wave looked upon the fog as a phenomenon whose only disturbancemight be delay. To Miss Keene this conveyed no annoyance; rather thatplacid envelopment of cloud soothed her fancy; she submitted herself toits 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 shipof 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 wasthe fog that his face and figure appeared to come dimly out of it, likea part of her dreaming fancy. Without replying to his question, she saidquickly,--

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

  An angry shadow crossed his thin face, and he hesitated. After a pausehe recovered himself, and said,--

  "I was saying you were taking all this very quietly. I don't thinkthere's much danger myself. And if we should go ashore here"--

  "Well?" suggested Miss Keene, ignoring this first intimation of dangerin 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 thesense of physical peril, she was vaguely moving away towards the dimlyoutlined figures of her companions when she was arrested by a voiceforward. 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 thegloom,--"Silence fore and aft!"

  The first voice repeated faintly,--

  "On the larboard bow."

  There was another silence. Again the voice repeated, as ifmechanically,--

  "Breakers!"

  "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, inone of those inexplicable movements she had not understood, the otherpassengers had been withdrawn into a limited space of the deck, as ifthrough some authoritative orders, while she and her companion had beenevidently overlooked. A couple of sailors, who had suddenly taken theirpositions 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 meto 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 wrapfrom the railing and throwing it over her shoulders.

  "But--I don't understand!" she stammered, more embarrassed by thesituation than by any impending peril.

  "There is very little danger, I think," he added impatiently. "There isscarcely any sea; the ship has very little way on; and these breakersare not over rocks. Listen."

  She tried to listen. At first she heard nothing but the occasional lowvoice of command near the wheel. Then she became conscious of a gentle,soothing murmur through the fog to the right. She had heard such amurmuring accompaniment to her girlish dreams at Newport on a stillsummer night. There was nothing to frighten her, but it increased herembarrassment.

  "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 stickto the ship!" he returned, with a frankness that would have been rudebut for its utter abstraction.

  Miss Keene was silent. The ship moved gently onward. The monotonous cryof the leadsman in the chains was the only sound audible. The soundingswere indicating shoaler water, although the murmuring of the surf hadbeen left far astern. The almost imperceptible darkening of the miston either beam seemed to show that the Excelsior was entering someland-locked passage. The movement of the vessel slackened, the tide wasbeginning to ebb. Suddenly a wave of far-off clamor, faint but sonorous,broke across the ship. There was an interval of breathless silence, andthen it broke again, and more distinctly. It was the sound of bells!

  The thrill of awe which passed through passengers and crew at thisspiritual challenge from the vast and intangible void around them hadscarcely subsided when the captain turned to Senor Perkins with a lookof surly interrogation. The Senor brushed his hat further back on hishead, wiped his brow, and became thoughtful.

  "It's too far south for Rosario," he said deprecatingly; "and the onlyother mission I know of is San Carlos, and that's far inland. But thatis the Angelus, and those are mission bells, surely."

  The captain turned to Mr. Brooks. The voice of invisible command againpassed along the deck, and, with a splash in the water and the rattlingof chains, the Excelsior swung slowly round on her anchor on the bosomof what seemed a placid bay.

  Miss Keene, who, in her complete absorption, had listened to thephantom bells with an almost superstitious exaltation, had forgotten thepresence of her companion, and now turned towards him. But he was gone.The imminent danger he had spoken of, half slightingly, he evidentlyconsidered as past. He had taken the opportunity offered by the slightbustle made by the lowering of the quarter-boat and the departure of themate on a voyage of discovery to mingle with the crowd, and regain hisstate-room. With the anchoring of the vessel, the momentary restraintwas 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, "untilwe saw you had a protector. Do tell me--what DID he say? He must havethought the danger great to have broken the Senor's orders and come upondeck? What did he talk about?"

  With a vivid recollection in her mind of Mr. Hurlstone's contemptuousignoring of the other ladies, Miss Keene became slightly embarrassed.Her confusion was not removed by the consciousness that the jealous eyesof 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 putme in the boat in case of danger," said Miss Keene, recovering herself,and directing her reply to Mrs. Markham. "I think that others have mademe the same kind of offer--who were wide awake," she added mischievouslyto 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. Markhambriskly. "Nobody seems to know where we are, and the only man who mightguess 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, whohad joined them. "I just left Mrs. Brimmer, who is very High Church, youknow, quite overcome by these Angelus bells. She's been entreating thecaptain to let her go ashore for vespers. It wouldn't be a bad idea, ifwe could only see what sort of a place we've got to. It wouldn't do togo feeling round the settlement in the dark--would it? Hallo! what'sthat? 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 sopranovoices swept through the fog from the invisible shore, rose high abovethe ship, and then fell, dying away with immeasurable sweetness andmelancholy. Even when it had passed, a lingering melody seemed tofill the deck. Two or three of the foreign sailors crossed themselvesdevoutly; the other passengers withheld their speech, and looked at eachother. Afraid to break the charm by speech, they listened again, but invain an infinite repose followed that seemed to pervade everything.

  It was broken, at last, by the sound of oars in their rowlocks; the boatwas returning. But it was noticed that the fog had slightly liftedfrom the surface of the water, for the boat was distinctly visible twocables' length from the ship as she approached; and it was seen thatbesides the first officer and Senor Perkins there were two strangersin the boat. Everybody rushed to the side for a nearer view of thosestrange inhabitants of the unknown shore; but the boat's crew suddenlyceased rowing, and lay on their oars until an indistinct hail andreply passed between the boat and ship. There was a bustle forward, anunexpected thunder from the Excelsior's eight-pounder at the bowport; Captain Bunker and the second mate ranged themselves at thecompanionway, and the passengers for the first time became aware thatthey were participating at the reception of visitors of distinction, astwo strange and bizarre figures stepped upon the deck.