In another moment, he was almost jerked off his feet by the sudden slowing up of the car.
“The anchor’s caught; eh, Major Carroll?” he cried, joyfully.
“So it would appear, son,” came a voice through the fog.
The “Border City,” swinging and wobbling, tugged hard on the cable. Willie groped his way along, occasionally glancing over the rail, without seeing anything, however, but the blanket of rolling mist. Everything was enveloped in its chill and sticky grip; the ropes and tubes dripped with moisture; it crept around his neck, and whirled against his eyes and ears. The big hull assumed a spectral look, and the gloom was like that of approaching night.
The shadowy figures were presently standing by his side, peering over the rail.
“It’s gettin’ thicker, Major,” said Kindale.
“I think this cloud will soon pass by.” Major Carroll laid his hand upon Willie’s shoulder. “Don’t be frightened, my lad,” he said.
“I am, though. Are we going to stay up here all day?”
“I hope not. Let’s get busy, Kindale.”
The men walked to the windlass around which the cable was wound.