For several minutes they watched, guns ready, for a renewal of the bull walrus’s attack, but the water disclosed no angry monster.
“I guess he’s had enough,” called Corporal McCarthy, “let’s get going. Do you see what’s coming up from the east?”
Dick and Sandy looked as the policeman directed, and their hearts jumped as if a hundred walruses were bearing down upon them, for, not a mile distant, a dense Arctic fog was floating swiftly toward them, like a wall of gray smoke.
“A fog!” cried Dick. “Get that paddle, Sandy! If we ever get caught in that fog we’ll be lost sure!”
CHAPTER VI
LOST IN AN ARCTIC FOG
After they had first sighted the fog it did not seem more than five minutes before they were enveloped in it. They could not see ten feet ahead of them, and the only way they had of knowing they were near one another was by shouting. The wind lulled almost immediately and the umiack began to drift straight north. In a few moments all hands were wet to the skin. All around them the icebergs and floes ground together with growling, grating noises, like so many fierce animals.
“Ahoy, there!” came the muffled bellow of Corporal McCarthy through the heavy mist.
“Here!” shouted Dick at the top of his lungs, the fog seeming to throw the sound of his voice back into his face.
“Keep paddling to the right—against the current,” came the Corporal’s command. “Sing out every few minutes so we can keep track of each other.”
“Alright,” shouted Dick, and behind came the fainter sound of Constable Sloan’s voice from the other umiack.