A STARTLING ADVENTURE.
During the conversation recorded none of the party had given much
thought to conditions outside. Now, when he stepped to the door of the
cabin, the ensign uttered a sharp cry of consternation.
"What's the matter?" asked Rob, as he approached.
"Matter enough. Look there!" was the rejoinder.
A dense white fog had come softly rolling up, and now the derelict _Good
Hope_ lay enwrapped in fleecy white clouds, thick and impenetrable.
"Well, we'll have to wait here in the boat till this clears off,"
declared Bob; "we could never find the _Seneca_ in this mess."
"That's the worst of it," rejoined the lieutenant, "there is no boat."
"No boat," echoed Rob uncomprehendingly; "but we came in one. It will be
waiting for us."
"No. I gave orders for the men to return to the _Seneca_ and bring over
a destructive mine, for I had determined to blow up this dangerous
menace to navigation. They have not returned, that is evident, or I
would have been notified. Boys, we are in a bad fix. I don't know how
fast this old hulk is drifting; but I imagine that if this keeps up much
longer, we shall fetch up a long way from the _Seneca's_ whereabouts."
"Can't they cruise about and find us?" asked Merritt rather piteously.
He was not a lad to underestimate the real seriousness of their position
on board the old hulk in the impenetrable fog that hung in blanket-like
wreaths everywhere about them.
In reply to the boy's question the ensign declared that it would be
impossible for the _Seneca_ to pick them up until the weather cleared,
if then.
"It would be risking the vessel to cruise about in this smother," he
said; "why, she'd be as likely to strike the _Good Hope_ as not!"
Rob's face grew long, though he did his best to make light of the
situation.
"Then we've got to picnic here till the fog clears off," he said.
"That's the case exactly, Rob," was the officer's rejoinder.
"But what are we going to picnic on?" inquired Tubby anxiously. "There's
no food or water on board, and we haven't brought any."
"There you go again. Always thinking of that precious tummy of yours,"
cried Hiram. "A little starving won't hurt you."
"Huh, just because you look like a human bean pole, you don't think
anyone has a right to be fat. You're jealous, that's what you are," was
the indignant reply of the fat youth.
Under other conditions there might have ensued a rough and tumble
battle; but just at this instant, through the fog, there came the
booming sound of a vessel's whistle.
"Waugh-gh-gh-gh!"
The long bellow sounded through the white, all-enveloping mist
surrounding the old hulk and its young company of castaways.
"That's the _Seneca's_ whistle," exclaimed the ensign anxiously. "She's
calling for us."
"Gee! She must know that we can't come to her," exclaimed Paul Perkins.
"I guess she's 'standing by' till the fog lifts," rejoined the officer.
"We'll release the bell. That may help to locate us."
But instead of standing by, it became apparent, before long, that the
_Seneca_ was cruising about. The reason for supposing this was that the
next time they heard the hoot of the siren it sounded much further off.
The boys exchanged glances.
"How long do these fogs last, as a rule?" enquired Merritt.
"Impossible to say!" was the quick reply, with an anxious look about.
"If only we could get a slant of wind!"
But there was not a breath stirring. Only the _Good Hope_ swung to the
soft swells, lifting and falling with a hopeless, helpless sort of
motion. In fact, an experienced seaman could have told her waterlogged
condition by the very "heft and heave" of her, which was sluggish to a
degree.
"Well, I suppose we must make up our minds to spend some time here,"
said Rob, with another attempt to treat the matter lightly. "Goodness,
our adventures are surely beginning early this trip!"
The others could not help but agree with the young leader of the Eagles,
although they could hardly foresee the still more thrilling experiences
that lay just ahead of them.
"I would suggest," began the ensign presently, "I would suggest that we
search for some trace of food."
"Humph; mouldy ship's biscuits!" grunted Tubby half under his breath.
"Even if there are any on board, they must be rotten by this time. This
is a fine fix! Maybe we won't get any supper at all," and the fat boy
looked positively tragic over the dire prospect.
But although Tubby had spoken in a low tone, more to himself than to
anybody else, the ensign's sharp ears had overheard him.
"Young man," he said somewhat sternly, "if you want to be a good Boy
Scout you must learn to take hardships as they come."
"Even missing meals?" asked Tubby, in an injured voice.
"Yes, even that," repeated the young officer with a smile, which in the
Eagles' case was a perfect roar of laughter at Tubby's keen distress.
The fat boy strode off sullenly by himself, gazing at the fog as he went
in a very knowing way.
They searched the ship over for something that it would be possible to
eat; but not so much as a crumb of edible supplies did they find. In one
hold was discovered a number of barrels of "salt horse and pork," but
they were all dried up and unfit for human food. The same thing applied
to the biscuit kegs, and all the other supplies. It was out of the
question to think of touching any of them.
"Whatever are we going to do?" gasped Rob, a note of real alarm in his
voice for the first time.
The ensign's calmness served to steady all the boys a bit.
"Don't worry; everything will come out all right," he said; "we are in
the track of ships, and----"
"But in this dense fog, that fact make it all the more dangerous,"
declared Rob, and the young officer could not but answer him with a nod
in the affirmative.
"I can't help admitting that, my boy," was his further rejoinder; "all
we can do is to trust to Providence and hope that the fog will disappear
before long."
"Let's whistle for a wind," suggested Rob, who had heard of sailors
doing such a thing.
"Better than doing nothing. It will fill the time in, anyway," agreed
the ensign.
The boys squatted in a circle.
"What will we whistle?" asked Merritt.
"'Wait Till the Clouds Roll By,' of course," rejoined Rob.
As the plaintive notes came from the whistlers' puckered lips, Tubby
sauntered up, his hands in his tunic pockets.
"What are you doing?" he asked, staring at them, "gone crazy with the
heat, or what?"
"We're whistling for a wind," answered Merritt.
"Huh; why don't you whistle for grub?" demanded Tubby, turning on his
heel, and striding gloomily off once more.