"Out with it. We're partners in all our joys and sorrows," said Charley, "so let's hear all about the clouds that aren't clouds but something else. What are they?"
"A sea fog," answered Ned; "this breeze is coming in from the sea laden with moisture, and those clouds just above us are banks of fog."
"Well, what of it?"
"We shall be shut in in five minutes," said Ned. "Look! you can't see half a mile now, and it is settling right down upon us, growing thicker every minute."
It was as Ned said. The wall of thick fog was closing in, and it was already impossible to see any thing except the waste of water around them. A few minutes later even the water could be seen for only a few yards around.
"Lie on your oars, boys," said Ned.
"Why not row on?" asked Charley.
"Because I don't know which way to steer, and rowing may only take us out of our course."
"Can't you hold your course straight ahead?"
"No. That would be possible in a fog if rowing always drove a boat straight ahead, and if there were no cross currents in the water; but both 'ifs' stand in the way. Without a compass nobody can keep a boat in any thing like a straight course in such a fog. The tide is running up, and so if we don't row at all we shall drift in the right direction, at least in a general way, while if we row, we may go all wrong."