Caught in the fog, they remained ten days in succession without beingable to see anything. The fishing went on handsomely the while, andwith so much to do there was no time for weariness. At regularintervals one of them blew a long fog-horn, whence issued a sound likethe howling of a wild beast.
Sometimes, out of the depths of white fog, another bellowing answeredtheir call. Then a sharper watch was kept. If the blasts wereapproaching, all ears were turned in the direction of that unknownneighbour, whom they might perhaps never see, but whose presence wasnevertheless a danger. Conjectures were made about the strange vessel;it became a subject of conversation, a sort of company for them; alllonging to see her, strained their eyes in vain efforts to piercethose impalpable white shrouds.
Then the mysterious consort would depart, the bellowing of her trumpetfading away in the distance, and they would remain again in the deephush, amid the infinity of stagnant vapour. Everything was drenchedwith salt water; the cold became more penetrating; each day the suntook longer to sink below the horizon; there were now real nights oneor two hours long, and their gray gloaming was chilly and weird.
Every morning they heaved the lead, through fear that the /Marie/might have run too near the Icelandic coast. But all the lines onboard, fastened end to end, were paid out in vain--the bottom couldnot be touched. So they knew that they were well out in blue water.
Life on board was rough and wholesome; the comfort in the snug strongoaken cabin below was enhanced by the impression of the piercing coldoutside, when they went down to supper or for rest.
In the daytime, these men, who were as secluded as monks, spoke butlittle among themselves. Each held his line, remaining for hours andhours in the same immovable position. They were separated by somethree yards of space, but it ended in not even seeing one another.
The calm of the fog dulled the mind. Fishing so lonely, they hummedhome songs, so as not to scare the fish away. Ideas came more slowlyand seldom; they seemed to expand, filling in the space of time,without leaving any vacuum. They dreamed of incoherent and mysteriousthings, as if in slumber, and the woof of their dreams was as airy asfog itself.
This misty month of August usually terminated the Iceland season, in aquiet, mournful way. Otherwise the full physical life was the same,filling the sailors' lungs with rustling air and hardening theiralready strong muscles.
Yann's usual manner had returned, as if his great grief had notcontinued; watchful and active, quick at his fishing work, a happy-go-lucky temper, like one who had no troubles; communicative at times,but very rarely--and always carrying his head up high, with his oldindifferent, domineering look.
At supper in the rough retreat, when they were all seated at table,with their knives busy on their hot plates, he occasionally laughedout as he used to do at droll remarks of his mates. In his inner selfhe perhaps thought of Gaud, to whom, doubtless, Sylvestre had plightedhim in his last hours; and she had become a poor girl now, alone inthe world. And above all, perhaps, the mourning for his belovedbrother still preyed upon his heart. But this heart of his was avirgin wilderness, difficult to explore and little known, where manythings took place unrevealed on the exterior.
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