Slowly the sun sank in the west. It was growing cloudy and a mist was rising. The mist made Martin Harris shake his head; but, not wishing to alarm the others, he said nothing.
But soon Dick noticed the mist and so did the rest. "Gracious, supposing we get caught in a fog!" muttered Tom.
"I was just thinking of it," returned his elder brother. "There will be no fun in it—if we are out of sight of land."
A quarter of an hour went by, and still no land appeared. It was now so raw that the boys were glad enough to button their coats tightly about them. Then, of a sudden, the fog came rolling over them like a huge cloud, and they were unable to see a dozen yards in any direction.
"This is the worst yet!" groaned Sam. "What's to do now?"
"Yes, what's to do now?" repeated Sergeant Brown. "Can you make the coast, skipper?"
"To be sure I can," replied Harris, as he looked at the compass. "But I don't know about landing. You see we might stick our nose into a sandbank before we knowed it."
"Perhaps the fog will lift?" suggested Carter.
"A fog like this isn't lifting in a hurry," said Dick. "Like as not it won't move until the sun comes up tomorrow morning," and in this guess he was right.
A half-hour went by, and from a distance came the deep note of a fog-horn, sounding apparently from up the shore.