This was true enough. The fog still enveloped them, and it needed a wind to carry away this concealing vapor. It hid them from view even as it hid from them the possible location of the Sherman and the derelict.
“Well, let’s hoist the sail, anyhow,” suggested Bob. “Then it will be ready when the wind does come, and if there are any small boats cruising around looking for us, or if any other ships get in this neighborhood, they can see us more easily if we have the sail up.”
“You’re right,” agreed the sailor. “Up she goes.”
As has been remarked, the raft, on which the three now were, consisted of two large hollow steel cylinders. Between them was a raised framework, and this, in addition to holding the box of food, contained a compartment for the oars and for a small sail. The mast for the latter was soon stepped in the hole provided for it. It was braced by ropes, and the sail hoisted.
“Now we’re all ready for a voyage!” cried Bob, more gaily than he could have talked an hour before.
For some little time they drifted on, the sail hanging idly at the mast, and the fog lazily swirling around them. Then, suddenly, there came a puff of wind. They all felt it at once.
“A breeze!” cried the sailor.
“Yes, and look!” cried Bob. “There’s the Sherman!”
He pointed to what seemed an opening torn in the veil of fog, and all three had a glimpse of the camouflaged side of some vessel. Then, as the wind bellied out the sail, the fog shut in again, and it was as if a blank, white wall confronted them.