The boy was sitting up forward, pondering the strangeness of the day's happenings, when suddenly, right ahead of him, as it seemed, the fog was split by the hoarse shriek of a steamer's whistle.
Rob's scalp tightened from alarm as he leaped for the lantern.
"Look out!" he shouted at the top of his voice; "look out!"
But for reply there only came back out of the dense smother ahead another raucous call of the big steam whistle.
"Gracious! We'll be run down! We'll be sunk!" cried the boy, half wild with alarm.
He shouted to his companions to come on deck; but before they could obey, a huge, black bulk loomed up right above the derelict. Rob shouted at the top of his voice. It seemed as if the Good Hope would be cut in two and that the steamer was also doomed to disaster if she struck.
Through the blackness flashed a green side-light, and then came the rushing by of the great hull, with its rows of illuminated portholes. Rob stood stock still. He was fairly rooted to the spot with panic. But the big steamer raced by in the blackness and fog without anyone on board her ever dreaming that she had been in such close proximity to the drifting derelict.
As her stern lights flashed for an instant and then were shut out in the fog, Rob's companions came rushing on deck.
"What is it? What has happened?" demanded the ensign, readily perceiving that something very serious had occurred.
Rob, still shaky from his experience, related, as briefly as possible, just what had caused his cry of alarm.