Lighter and lighter became the wind. It fell to a flat calm, the water was smooth as oil and the Narwhal drifted idly. Then the boys noticed that the vast bulk of Southampton Island seemed to be fading away, the farther shores of the bay were becoming faint and blue. Almost before they realized what it meant, the air grew suddenly chill, a cold wind whipped against their faces and, like a gray blanket, the fog descended swiftly, unheralded, and wrapped schooner and bay in its dense gray folds.
“Knowed sutthin’ wuz a-comin’ out o’ this,” declared Cap’n Pem. “Bust it all, why couldn’t she ’a’ held off ’til we got inter the Welcome?”
“What on earth is this ‘Welcome’ you’re always speaking of?” asked Tom.
“Shucks, ’course ye don’t know,” replied the old whaleman. “Why, a Welcome’s a sort o’ harbor-bay like, where a ship kin put in an’ be snug an’ safe from ice jams an’ win’s.”
“Well, it’s a good name for such places,” laughed Tom. “I suppose the first people who found them called them that because they were so welcome.”
“Yep, I reckon so,” assented Pem. “But this here blasted fog ain’t welcome, an’ like as not it’ll come on cold and blow harder’n blazes fer a week arter it lifts. I knowed that there cat’d play the everlastin’ fumdiddles with us.”
The fog was now so dense that only a few feet of the deck and bulwarks were visible about the spot where one stood. The water although so near was completely hidden and looking down into the greenish gray vapor, the ship seemed floating in air. From every side came the whimpering cries of gulls, the querulous chatter of ducks, the honk of geese, and the shrill notes of other birds. Presently Unavik loomed silently close to the boys and leaning upon the rail peered into the fog.
“H’lo!” he greeted the two. “Plenty fog, me say. Me t’ink Ukla bus’ dis day.”
“What are you talking about?” queried Jim. “What’s ‘Ukla,’ and what do you mean by its busting?’”
The Eskimo grinned. “Gimme t’bac, me say you,” he replied.