"We are, that's what we are doing!" shouted Tom, in the greatest alarm. "Mind your eye there, Nat!"
A loud blast of the fog-horn threw the lads into a state of panic.
"Look, look! There it is!" shouted Nat, excitedly.
Through the dense fog, an indistinct form, gradually taking shape, could be seen approaching. The boys were presently able to distinguish a confused blurr, as passengers crowded to the rails. They heard shouts and calls, the clanging of a bell, then the siren blast of a fog-horn drowned all other sounds.
"My eye, a close call that!" exclaimed Hackett, in excited tones; "not more than fifty feet to spare."
"Isn't it going slowly?" said Sam Randall.
"Hi there!" called out Nat, perceiving that they were not in any danger; "why don't you keep your old tub tied up a day like this?"
"Haven't you any more sense than to be out in the middle of the bay in a little cockle-shell like that?" came an answering voice.
Then the gloom again swallowed up the steamer, while Nat, through the megaphone, sent a long string of compliments after it.
"Great Cæsar, I was scared—that's a fact," admitted Tom Clifton.