Returning to the head of the cove, I came to a sort of Calvary, it appeared to me, where navigators, carrying their cross, had each set one up as a beacon to others coming after.

They had anchored here and gone on, all except the one under the little mound.
One of the simple marks, curiously enough, had been left there by the steamship _Colimbia_, sister ship to the _Colombia_, my neighbor of that morning.
I read the names of many other vessels; some of them I copied in my journal, others were illegible.

Many of the crosses had decayed and fallen, and many a hand that put them there I had known, many a hand now still.

The air of depression was about the place, and I hurried back to the sloop to forget myself again in the voyage.
Early the next morning I stood out from Borgia Bay, and off Cape Quod, where the wind fell light, I moored the sloop by kelp in twenty fathoms of water, and held her there a few hours against a three-knot current.

That night I anchored in Langara Cove, a few miles farther along, where on the following day I discovered wreckage and goods washed up from the sea.