THROUGH THE FOG

The fog was so thick yer could cut it

‘ Thout reachin’ a foot over-side,

The dory she'd nose up ter butt it,

And then git discouraged an’ slide;

No noise but the thole-pins a-squeakin’,

Or, maybe, the swash of a wave,

No feller ter cheer yer by speakin’ —

‘ Twas lonesomer, lots, than the grave.

I set there an’ thought of my trouble,

I thought how I'd worked fer the cash

That bust and went up like a bubble

The day that the bank went ter smash.

I thought how the fishin’ was failin’,

How little this season I'd made,

I thought of the child that was ailin’,

I thought of the bills ter be paid.

“And,” says I, “All my life I've been fightin’

Through oceans of nothin’ but fog;

And never no harbor a-sightin’ —

Jest driftin’ around like a log;

No matter how sharp I'm a-spyin’,

I never see nothin’ ahead:

I'm sick and disgusted with tryin’ —

I jest wish ter God I was dead.”

It wa'n' t more'n a minute, I'm certain,

The words was jest out er my mouth,

When up went the fog, like a curtain,

And “puff” came the breeze from the south;

And‘ bout a mile off, by rough guessin’,

I see my own shanty on shore,

And Mary, my wife and my blessin’,

God keep her, she stood in the door.

And I says ter myself, “I'm a darlin’;

A chap with a woman like that,

To set here a-grumblin’ and snarlin’,

As sour as a sulky young brat —

I'd better jest keep my helm steady,

And not mind the fog that's adrift,

For when the Lord gits good and ready,

I reckon it's certain ter lift.”