“Who are the missing ones?” asked the captain.
“Two soldiers, Bob Baker and Jerry Hopkins; Professor Uriah Snodgrass; and Beno Judd, a first-class seaman. They can not be found, they are not among the injured, nor are their bodies among the dead. I have put them down as missing, sir.”
“Quite right. Unfortunate, but quite right. Have the boats been able to pick up any one?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, there is not much use, I believe, in keeping them out longer in this fog. Some of them may get lost. Call them back, but station lookouts with orders to report at once anything that looks like floating wreckage to which a person might cling. If this fog would only lift we might have a chance of picking them up, if they, by any chance, are still alive. Have a sufficient number of lookouts stationed, Mr. Bangs.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ned felt sick at heart. It was all over, then—the happy companionship of years—he thought. Never again would he see his beloved comrades, Jerry and Bob, comrades with whom he had passed the gates of death in many a battle. Professor Snodgrass, also—that dear but eccentric individual—he, too, was gone.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” asked Ned of the captain.
“I’m sorry to say I don’t see what else can be done,” was the sympathetic answer, for the commander of the ship knew something of the love and friendship existing between the lad who was left and those who were gone. “You know how the accident happened, my lad, and we have searched all over in this vicinity. It would be risking other lives to search farther, for it is easy for a small boat to be lost in a fog. If it should lift I would order them out again. I am sorry.”
Ned turned away, his heart heavy. To whom could he go for solace? He had many friends and acquaintances among his fellow soldiers, and the officers were fond of him and his chums. But Ned did not feel like talking to any of them just now. He wanted to be alone. But solitude was difficult to come at on the crowded ship.