If a curtain had rolled down all about them they could not have been more completely blotted out from their surroundings.
Everywhere the soft white mist baffled sight. From the stern of the
Ocean Spray it was impossible to make out the tiny vessel's bow.
The smothering blanket of pearly-gray vapor had enwrapped them so completely that in their first excitement they lost all sense of their bearings, and as they had no compass they were in a bad fix indeed.
Hastily Frank awoke Bluewater Bill.
The old sailor uttered a sharp exclamation as he emerged from the cubby hole in which he had been sleeping and gazed about him. The fog settled in glittering masses on his bushy eyebrows and whiskers, as he scanned the impenetrable mist in every direction.
"Whereabouts was you when the fog came up?" he asked suddenly.
"About in the middle of the Sound," announced Frank.
"Couldn't be in a worse place," commented Bill, "right in the track of the Fall River steamers and any other craft that happens to come up or down the Sound."
Even as he spoke there came the long melancholy boom of a steamer's whistle from somewhere in the obscurity.
Bill hastily searched the Ocean Spray's cabin.