XVI
FOG BOUND
THE boys were not tired that evening, and after their abundant supperthey sat late talking and telling stories and “just being happy,” Dicksaid. The day had been a torrid one, but in the evening there was achill in the air which made a crackling camp-fire welcome. When at lastthey grew sleepy they simply rolled themselves in their blankets andlay down upon the sand and under the stars. They had built no shelter,as it was not their purpose to remain where they were except for asingle night.
It was not long after daylight when Tom, shivering, sprang up, saying:
“I’m cold—hello! What’s this? Fog?”
“Yes,” said Larry, “a visitor from the gulf stream. And it is almostthick enough to cut, too. What shall we do?”
“Do? Why, make the best of it and be happy, of course,” answered Cal,piling wood upon the embers to set the camp-fire going again. “Thefirst step in that direction is to get your blood circulating. Stiraround. Bring a bucket of water and set the kettle to boil—that isto say, if you can open a trail through this fog and find the waterhole without falling into it. Whew! but this is a marrow-searchingatmosphere.”
The fog was indeed so dense that nothing could be seen at more thantwenty paces away, while the damp, penetrating chill set all teethchattering and kept them at it until rapid exercise set pulses goingagain. Then came breakfast to “confirm the cure,” Dick suggested, andthe little company was comfortable again. That is to say, all of thembut Larry. He was obviously uneasy in his mind, so much so that he hadlittle relish for his breakfast.
“What’s the matter, Larry,” asked Tom, presently; “aren’t you warm yet?”
“Oh, yes, I’m warm enough, but there isn’t a breath of air stirring,and this fog may last all day. What do you think, Cal?”
“I think that very likely. I’ve seen fogs like this that lasted two orthree days.”
“How on earth are we to get to Beaufort while it lasts?”
The question revealed the nature of Larry’s trouble.
“Why, of course we can’t do anything of the kind,” Cal answered. “Weshould get lost in the fog and go butting into mud banks and unexpectedshoals. No. Till this fog clears away we can’t think of leaving thealtogether agreeable shore upon which a kindly fate has cast us. Butwe can be happy while we stay, unless we make ourselves unhappy byworrying. I know what is troubling you, Larry, and it’s nonsense toworry about it. I often think I wouldn’t carry your conscience aboutwith me for thirty cents a month.”
“But, Cal, you see it is our duty to notify the revenue officers of ourdiscovery before those smugglers get away.”
“It may relieve your mind,” Cal answered in his usual roundaboutfashion, “to reflect that they can’t get away. If they were stillthere when this fog came in from the sea, they will stay there till itclears away again. So we are really losing no time. In addition to thatconsolation, you should take comfort to yourself in the thought thateven if the revenue officers were in possession of the information wehave, they could do nothing till the fog lifts. So far as I know, atleast, they can see no farther through fog than other people can, andshoals and mud banks are unlikely to respect their authority by keepingout of the way of such craft as they may navigate.”
Suddenly Cal put aside his playful manner of speech, and becamethoroughly earnest.
“Think a minute, Larry. We have absolutely no official duty to do inthis matter. We are doing our best as good citizens to notify theauthorities. At present we can’t do it. There’s an end of that. Wehave a pleasant bivouac here, with plenty of food and more where itcame from. Why shouldn’t we make the best of things and be happy? Whyshould you go brooding around, making the rest of us miserable? I tellyou it’s nonsense. Cheer up, and give the rest of us a chance to enjoyourselves.”
“You are right, Cal,” Larry answered; “and I won’t spoil sport. Ididn’t mean to, and my worrying was foolish. By the way, what shall wedo to pass the time to-day?”
“Well, for one thing, we ought to put up a shelter. A fog like this isvery apt to end in soaking rain, and if it does that to-night, we’llsleep more comfortably under a roof of palmete leaves than out in theopen. However, there’s no hurry about that, and you can let Dick wallopyou at chess for an hour or so while Tom and I go foraging. You seeI’ve thought of a good many things that I ought to have bought lastnight, but didn’t. Do you want to go along, Tom?”
Tom did, and as they started away, Cal called back:
“I say, Larry, suppose you put on a kettle of rice to boil for dinnerwhen the time comes. I think I’ll bring back something to eat with it.”
Then walking on with Tom by his side, he fell into his customarydrawling, half-frivolous mode of speech. Tom had expressed his pleasurein the prospect of rice for dinner—rice cooked in the Carolina way, adish he had never tasted before his present visit began.
“Yes,” answered Cal, “I was tenderly and affectionately thinking of youwhen I suggested the dish. And I had it in mind to make the occasionmemorable in another way. I remember very vividly how greatly—I willnot say greedily—you enjoyed the combination of rice and broiledspring chicken while we were in Charleston. I remember that at firstyou seemed disposed to scorn the rice under the mistaken impressionthat rice must always be the pasty, mush-like mess that they made of itat school. I remember how when I insisted upon filling your plate withit you contemplated it with surprise, and, contemplating, tasted thedainty result of proper cooking. After that all was plain sailing. Ihad only to place half a broiled chicken upon the rice foundation inyour plate—half a chicken at a time I mean—and observe the gustatorydelight with which you devoted yourself to our favorite Carolina dish.”
“Oh, well, your Carolina way of cooking it makes rice good even whenyou have no chicken to go with it. If the fog would thin itself down abit—”
“Which it won’t do in time for you to kill the squirrels you werethinking of as a possible substitute for chicken. Perish the thought.It is utterly unworthy. You and I are out after spring chickens, Tom.”
“Good! Do you think we can find any?”
“With the aid of the currency of our country as an excitant of thenegro imagination, we can.”
“You saw chickens at the negro quarters last night, then?”
“No, I did not. But I observed a large pan on a shelf in front of oneof the cabins, and with more curiosity than politeness I stood up on mytiptoes and looked into it. Tom, that pan was more than half full ofchicken feed, and it was fresh at that. Knowing the habits of personsof the colored persuasion, I am entirely certain that no one of themwould have taken the trouble to prepare that chicken feed unless hewas the happy possessor of chickens. I’m going to call upon the duskyproprietor of that pan this morning.”
“That’s another case of noticing, Cal, and another proof of its value.We are likely to have broiled spring chickens for dinner to-day justbecause you observed that pan of chicken feed. What else did you noticeup there? I ask solely out of curiosity.”
“There wasn’t much else to observe. I saw some fig bushes but they’vebeen stripped. Otherwise we should have had some figs for breakfastthis morning. Just now I observe that the fog is manifesting a decidedtendency to resolve itself into rain, and if it does, that we mustsatisfy Larry’s conscience by getting away from our present camp thisafternoon—or as soon as the fog is sufficiently cleared away. So youand I must hurry on if we’re to have those broiled chickens.”
As results proved, Cal was mistaken in his reckoning of the timenecessary to dissipate the fog. It was merely taking the form of whatis known as a “Scotch mist,” which does not form itself into rain dropsand fall, but collects in drops upon whatever it touches, saturatingclothing even more speedily than actual rain does and making all butthe sunniest dispositions uncomfortable.
But even a Scotch mist condition served to thin the fog a little,though by no means enough to make navigation possible. Larry watchedconditions anxiously, as Cal expected
him to do, and his first questionwhen Cal and Tom returned with their chickens revealed his state ofmind.
“What do you think of it, Cal?” he asked.
“Of what? If you refer to the moon, I am satisfied in my own mind—”
“Pshaw! You know what I mean. Do be serious for once and tell me whatyou think of the prospect?”
“Conscience bothering you again?”
“Yes. We must get away from here to-day if possible—and as soon aspossible.”
“Can’t you give us time to have dinner and cook some extra food forconsumption when we get hopelessly lost out there in the fog banks thatare still rolling in from the sea?”
“Oh, of course we can’t leave here till the fog clears away. But do youthink it ever will clear away?”
“It always has,” answered Cal, determined to laugh his brother out ofhis brooding if he could not reason him out of it. “In such experienceas I have had with fogs I never yet encountered one that didn’tultimately disappear, did you?”
“But what do you think of the prospect?” persisted Larry.
“I can see so little of it through the fog,” Cal provokingly replied,“that I am really unable to form an intelligent opinion of it. What Ido see is that you haven’t begun to make our shelter yet. In my opinionit would be well to do so, if only to keep the chess board dry whilea game is in progress. Moreover, I have an interesting book or twowrapped up in my oilskins, and if we are doomed to remain here overnight—”
“You don’t think then that—”
“Frankly, Larry, I don’t know anything about it. Neither do you, andneither does anybody else. We’re in a very wet fog bank. We’ve gotto stay where we are till the weather changes. Don’t you think ourwisest course is to make ourselves as comfortable and keep ourselves ascheerful as we can while it lasts.”
“Yes, of course, but it’s pretty hard you know to—”
“Not half as hard as chopping wood and ‘toting’ it in from the woodsover there, and that is what Tom and I are going to do after dinner asour contribution to the general comfort. You’ll find yourself feelinga great deal better if you busy yourself making a really comfortableshelter while we’re at the other job. It may come on to rain torrentsthis afternoon, and of course we won’t leave here in the boat if itdoes.”
“That will do, Cal. I’m convinced, and I’m a trifle ashamed of myselfbesides. I promise not to worry any more. I decree that we shall notleave port in a rain storm, and unless the weather conditions becomefavorable before four o’clock this afternoon we’ll not leave here anyhow until to-morrow.”
What Happened at Quasi: The Story of a Carolina Cruise Page 18
