"But if the fog lifts, we will probably be seen by some vessel!"
There could be no doubt that a gentle breeze was beginning to blow.
"Sure enough, the fog is thinning!" Bart cried joyfully. "But I don't hear any more whistles."
"Hark! there one sounded."
"Miles away!"
"Wait till the fog rises. Perhaps there are others."
Anxiously they watched the gray wall. The wind died away, and once or twice it seemed that the fog was growing denser, instead of lightening. But by and by the sunlight seemed to permeate it. It appeared to become thinner. Then, like a great curtain uplifted, it for a little while swung upward from the face of the heaving sea. All around were the green rollers, rising and falling with an oily swell.
Hodge uttered an exclamation of gratification.
"Look!"
Merriwell looked in the direction indicated. Not a fourth of a mile away a dingy fishing-sloop was bobbing along, with her dirty mainsail and jib set, yet seeming to catch no breeze. Both Merry and Hodge forgot their discomfort, forgot their chilled and benumbed condition, and, lifting themselves as high as they could, shouted for assistance.