Early one morning the boys were awakened by the steady booming of the Northerner's whistle. By the lack of vibration they knew that she was proceeding slowly. Wondering what could be the cause of the reduced speed and the constant raucous bellowing of the whistle, they hustled into their clothes and met each other on deck.
It was at once apparent what was the matter. Thick, steamy sea-fog enveloped the ship. Through a fleece of blanket-like vapor, she was forging ahead at a snail's pace. The boys made their way to the bridge. There they found their elders in anxious consultation. And there, too, the blowing of the whistle was explained to them. It was not, as they had at first thought, for fear of encountering other vessels that the big siren was kept incessantly roaring its hoarse warning.
The whistle was sounding to enable the captain to get his bearings in the dense smother. Sea captains along the part of the coast where they were now steaming, keep their whistles going in thick weather so as to catch the sound of an echo. When they hear one reverberating back through the fog, they know that they are in dangerous proximity to the cliffy, rockbound coast, and keep outward toward the open sea.
"Where are we?" was naturally the first thing that the boys wanted to know.
"We are somewhere off the coast of Afognok Island," was the rejoinder.
"That's a misnomer for it," declared Jack.
"How's that?" unsuspectingly inquired Tom.
"Why, it's the last place I'd think of calling A-fog-not," rejoined Jack, dodging quickly to a place of safety behind a stanchion.
"Are we near a harbor?" inquired Sandy.
"As well as I can tell, we ought to be off the mouth of Kadiak Harbor soon after breakfast," rejoined the captain, squinting at the compass and giving a brief direction to the man at the wheel.