"How long is such a fog likely to last?" asked Jack.
"It is impossible to tell. A change in the wind or in the state of the atmosphere may clear it away at any moment; or it may last a week."
"A week!" exclaimed Charley; "what shall we do if it does? We haven't an ounce of food left, and only a little water," looking into the coffee-pot.
"We needn't manage the whole week this afternoon," said Jack. "It will be better to keep cool and do the best thing that can be done every minute. Just now, Ned says, the best thing is to drift with the tide, so we'll drift, and wait, and keep our wits about us so as to see any chance that offers for doing better."
Jack spoke in a cheerful voice, and his tone of courage served to brace his companions somewhat, but it was plain to all three that their position was really one of great danger and uncertainty. It was Jack's excellent habit, however, to grow strong and courageous in difficulty or danger; he never allowed himself to become panic-stricken, or to do foolish, frantic things.
"Jack," said Charley after a while, "I don't believe there's any whine in you."
"I don't know," replied Jack; "I hope there isn't. What good would whining do?"
An hour passed, and still the fog grew thicker. Another hour; the breeze had ceased to blow, and the gray mist lay like a blanket over the water. It seemed piled in thick layers, one on top of another. It was so dense that it could be seen floating between one of the boys and another, like smoke from a cigar. The boys could see its slow writhing and twisting in the still air, moved as it was only by their breath, or by the occasional movements of their bodies. It would have been impossible in such a fog to see a ship twenty feet distant.
For still another hour and another the boys sat still in the boat, rarely speaking or in any way breaking the awful silence of the fog-bound solitude.
At last Ned bent his head down close to the gunwale to scan the surface of the water.