"Hardly," laughed Bob; "but we can't see a sign of land."
"Never met a fellow who was so set on looking at mud, rocks and trees before. I'm not a bit sorry to vary the program."
"My eye, Somers thinks he's on an automobile again," laughed Hackett.
"That's it!" exclaimed Nat, with a grin. "Hi, Dave, are you wide awake enough to wrestle with this wheel a minute?"
"I guess so," said Dave, good-naturedly, as he made his way toward the bow.
When the "Nimrod" had left the wharf, early that morning, a mist hung over the bay. The sun shone like a great, yellowish ball through the masses of vapor. Not the slightest breeze was stirring, and as the morning wore on, the mist became thicker and thicker until now it was scarcely possible to see more than fifty feet in any direction.
Hoarse blasts of fog-horns, shriller whistles from small steam craft, rendered faint by distance, came over the air, while the "Nimrod" slowly ploughed through the colorless water.
"Seems as if we were out of the world," declared Tommy Clifton; "it's almost spooky."
"Just like an air-ship in the clouds," said Pollock.
"Where do you suppose we are?" inquired Dave, straining his eyes to pierce the gloom.