"That is as true as preaching," added Captain Cayo, laughing, when he saw that the other steamer was checkmated if she had intended to resort to any stratagem to avoid us. "We may as well put the steamer on her course for the South-east Pass."
He suited his action to the words. The wind was freshening, and the log indicated that we were making twelve knots strong. Moses was still crowding on all the steam the boiler would bear, and I am sure the yacht never sailed any faster.
At six I estimated that the Islander was not more than a mile ahead of us, and another hour would wipe out all the difference.
"This wind is good for us in one way, and bad in another," said Captain Cayo, shaking his head after a searching gaze to windward.
"You mean that we are likely to have some fog," I added.
"Not only likely to have a fog, but sure of it. It is miles deep to the southward and westward."
"Of course the Islander will be able to keep out of the way in a fog; and we can't help ourselves," I replied, trying to yield as gracefully as possible to the necessity of giving up our point.
I had hardly uttered the words before the fog swept down upon us. It was very dense, and we could not see a ship's length ahead of us; at about the same time the wind suddenly subsided. We could see nothing of the Islander, and I had no doubt she had already shifted her course to the north or the south.
"The game is all up, Captain Cayo," I said, very mournfully.
"Up for the present," replied the pilot, as he called through the speaking-tube for the engineer to stop the steamer.