“Why won’t it?”
“Because as soon as any other ship hears our signals she’s going to keep as far away as she can to avoid a collision.”
“That’s so,” admitted the tall lad. “But I presume there’s some sort of whistle code so they can send out a distress call.”
“In that case we’ll be all right,” said Ned. “Well, all we can do is to grin and bear it. The fog seems to have come to stay.”
And this seemed true. Denser and more dense, the white vapor closed around the slowly drifting Sherman. The air was cold and damp, and it penetrated through the clothing.
“What causes the fog?” asked Ned of a sailor who rolled past the three friends as they stood at a rail.
“Davy Jones, I guess,” was the answer. “Leastways he gets his full share of ships when a fog like this here one comes. Maybe this here one was caused by icebergs.”
“Icebergs!” cried Jerry.
“Yes, this is the time of year they come down, sometimes. An iceberg is cold, you know, and when it gets in warm air it makes a fog. I’ve been on ships more than once that bunked into ’em.”
“Do they do much damage?” asked Bob.