No wonder he wished fervently for the fog to lift.
The hours passed slowly. It was not until nearly eight o’clock that a faint breeze ruffled the water and the wall of vapour began to disperse.
“Hurrah! a breeze!” exclaimed Brandon, as the hitherto idly-playing main boom swung out and tugged gently at the mainsheet.
“What course, sir?” asked the Patrol Leader, as the Kestrel gathered way.
“Sou’-sou’-east,” replied Mr. Grant. “It’ll mean a night afloat, lads.”
“Good egg!” ejaculated Heavitree.
The Scoutmaster wasn’t so sure about it. Possibly there would be half a gale of wind when the fog did disperse; and until it did the Kestrel must have plenty of sea-room. To attempt to make a strange harbour in a mist and with only a few remaining hours of daylight was asking for trouble.
The breeze held; but the mist, although diminishing in density, continued to hang about in irregular patches.
“Keep your eyes skinned, lads!” continued Mr. Grant. “We ought to be seeing land on our port quarter.”
“Sail ahead!” sang out Craddock.