It may be said here, however, that in this he was very much mistaken. Rob and his friends did meet the bully again and under strange circumstances, in scenes far removed from the peaceful surroundings of Hampton.
"Fog's thickenin'," observed the captain squinting seaward.
As he remarked, the mist was indeed increasing in density, shrouding the surroundings of the camp completely and covering the trees and bushes with condensed moisture, which dripped in a slow, melancholy sort of way from their limbs.
"Bad weather for ships," observed Merritt.
"Yer may well say that, my lad, and this is a powerful bad part uv the coast ter be navigatin' on in a fog. I've heard it said that there's a lot uv iron in the Long Island shoals and that this deflects the compasses uv ships that stay too near in shore in a fog. I don't know how that maybe, I don't place a lot uv stock in it myself, but I do know that steamers and vessels uv al kinds go ashore here more than seems ter be natural."
As he finished speaking there came, the fog a sound that fitted in so well with subject of his conversation that it almost an accompaniment to it.
"Who-oo-oo-oo!"
"A steamer's siren," exclaimed Rob.
"That's what it is, lad," assented the old sailor, as the sound came again, booming through the fog with a melancholy cadence.
"Who-o-o-o-o-o!" roared the siren once more.