For another half-hour the “Rocket” barely moved over the water, though now her nose was pointed east, in the track of in-coming steamships. Mr. Moddridge had quieted down enough to stretch himself in one of the wicker chairs on the low after deck, where he chewed nervously at the end of a mild cigar that was seldom lighted. In this time no other craft came near them, or, if it did, failed to sound fog signals.
And now the fog was lifting slowly. The lookouts were able to see over the waters for a distance of some two hundred feet at least.
“A morning fog, in August, off the Long Island coast, isn’t likely to last long,” said Mr. Delavan. “In half an hour more you may be able to see the horizon on every side.”
“I hope so,” nodded Captain Tom. “Fog has few delights for the sailor. Without fog we could make out a huge craft like the ‘Kaiser’ at a great distance. Listen, sir! Did you hear that?”
Again the sound came, though faintly, from far away.
Whoo-oo-oo! whoo-oo-oo! It was a hoarse, deep-throated, powerful blast on a fog-whistle.
“That comes from some big craft, sir; as like as not the ‘Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse.’”
“Have you ever seen that steamship?”
“No, sir; but I’ve studied her pictures. I think I’d know her if I saw her.”