Out of the Fog | Page 8

There are thirty-two points of the compass, and by deviating
one point at the center, a distance of fifty miles would bring us ten
miles out of the way at the circumference. We could row fifty miles,
but we cannot take chances. Yet there is a snug little fishing craft out
there on the rim of the circle, waiting for us to find her! But which way
shall we go? I finally decided that this was a problem for the Pilot, and
I left it with Him, satisfied that He understood His business and that if
He had any orders for me, He knew how to communicate them.
The eighth day came, and with it came an impulse to row the boat in a
certain direction. This impulse was not unlike the thousands that had
come to me before. There was nothing about it to indicate that its
source was any higher than my own imagination. If this was a voice

from above the fog, it was certainly a still, small one. It was unheeded
at first, not unrecognized. Reason said that to conserve our strength we
should sit still and wait for the lifting of the fog. Fear whispered that if
I obeyed the impulse, we might be rowing directly away from safety.
But the impulse persisted and prevailed.
"Get up, John," I said, "we have a day's work ahead of us. We are going
to row off in this direction."
John responded automatically, fear acting in place of reason, but he was
soon exhausted and lay down again. I kept on, however, resting now
and then, and returning to the oars with the thought that fifty miles was
a long distance and that we had a very small margin of time to our
credit. Our course was with the wind, and nature worked with us all
that eighth day and on into the night, as the pressure on me drove us
toward our goal.
About the middle of the eighth night I realized that I had reached the
limit of my fighting strength. John was in worse condition than I, for I
still had hope, but my hope was not in myself. Then I talked the
situation over with the Pilot. We had nowhere else to go; we had come
as far as we could; our time was nearly up--what of the night? and what
of the morning? John was asleep; the world was a long way off: the sea
and the mist seemed to have rolled over us and to have buried us ten
thousand fathoms deep. But "out of the depths I cried," and I found the
communication open.
Between midnight and dawn the fog lifted and from the overhanging
clouds the rain fell gently through the remainder of the night. John lay
in his end of the boat, but I sat watching. Finally, as if in response to
some secret signal, the darkness began its inevitable retreat and, as the
night horizon receded, out of the gray of the morning, growing more
and more distinct as the shadows fell away, appeared a dark object less
than two miles distant, nebulous at first, then unmistakable in its
character. It was a solitary fishing vessel lying at anchor, toward which
we had been rowing and drifting unerringly all through the night and
the day before.
There it was! only a clumsy old fisherman, but it was the best thing in
all the world to us, and it was anchored and could not get away!
I do not recall the experience of any tumultuous emotion as this
messenger of hope appeared on our horizon, but we knew that we were

safe. How easy it is to write this simple word of four letters! but, to
realize it, one must have a background of despair. Since that morning,
the words "safe," "safety," "salvation," have always come to me
freighted with reality.
It is doubtful if any of the vessel's crew had seen our boat, as it was
scarcely daylight and such a small object lying close to the water would
not be readily discernible. I had thought, a few hours before, that my
strength was entirely exhausted, but the sight of the vessel called out a
reserve sufficient for the final effort.
As I slowly brought our boat alongside, some of the crew were in
evidence, getting ready for their day's work, and they seemed perplexed
to account for our early morning call. But, when we came close to the
vessel, our emaciated appearance evidently told the main outlines of
our story. They called to the others in a foreign tongue and the whole
crew crowded to the rail. One strong fellow jumped into our boat and
lifted John up while others reached down to help. Then, with their
assistance, I