“Yes, though we’re quite a distance down south, much nearer the equator than we were, damp and clammy fog makes it seem cooler than it has been,” replied her husband.
“You can’t see anything up here,” stated Sue. “I like it better downstairs where I can play with Elizabeth. She doesn’t like a fog, I guess.”
“Neither do the sailors,” said Mr. Brown. “They would much rather go through a storm at sea than a fog, for they never can tell what is going to happen when they can’t see where they are going or what is coming toward them out of the dim whiteness.”
As Sue had said, there was nothing to see from the deck of the Beacon except that white blanket. There was no wind to blow it away, for only when there is no wind does a fog descend. Really, a fog is a big cloud settling down on the earth, and as soon as the wind begins to blow the fog scatters.
Sometimes, as the Beacon steamed along through the mist, little swirling particles of the fog moved about. But this was all. It was as if the ship was all alone on a great, white sea.
“Listen!” exclaimed Bunny as they were about to go below. “I thought I heard another ship’s foghorn.”
They all remained quiet, and then from somewhere out on the ocean came a faint note—the sound of a far-off whistle.
“Yes, that’s another ship, I think,” said Mr. Brown.
Stationed in the bow, or very front part, of the Beacon, was a man on the lookout. He, too, heard this faint and distant whistle and he called out something to the officer on the bridge who was steering the ship. This officer gave several blasts, one quickly after the other, of the Beacon’s powerful fog whistle. This was to let the other ship know her signal had been heard.
Then, from somewhere out in that blanket of fog, came back some answering toots.