It was dawn on the first of May, 1877. From the sea the mist came
sweeping in, in a gray trail that lay heavily on the water. Here
and there there was a movement in it; it seemed about to lift, but
closed in again, leaving only a strip of shore with two old boats
lying keel uppermost upon it. The prow of a third boat and a bit
of breakwater showed dimly in the mist a few paces off. At definite
intervals a smooth, gray wave came gliding out of the mist up over
the rustling shingle, and then withdrew again; it was as if some
great animal lay hidden out there in the fog, and lapped at the
land.

A couple of hungry crows were busy with a black, inflated object
down there, probably the carcass of a dog. Each time a wave glided
in, they rose and hovered a few feet up in the air with their legs
extended straight down toward their booty, as if held by some
invisible attachment. When the water retreated, they dropped down
and buried their heads in the carrion, but kept their wings spread,
ready to rise before the next advancing wave. This was repeated with
the regularity of clock-work.

A shout came vibrating in from the harbor, and a little while after
the heavy sound of oars working over the edge of a boat. The sound
grew more distant and at last ceased; but then a bell began to
ring--it must have been at the end of the mole--and out of the
distance, into which the beat of the oars had disappeared, came the
answering sound of a horn. They continued to answer one another for
a couple of minutes.

The town was invisible, but now and then the silence there was