"Getting scared, Bobby?"
"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 automobile1 again," laughed Hackett.
"That's it!" exclaimed Nat, with a grin. "Hi, Dave, are you wide awake enough to wrestle2 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 wharf3, early that morning, a mist hung over the bay. The sun shone like a great, yellowish ball through the masses of vapor4. 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.
Hoarse5 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.
"On top of the water, Dave," laughed Nat.
"Big and little fishes! I don't care for this," grumbled6 Kirk. "There are some whopping big steamers on this bay. Did you hear that?"
A blast from a fog-horn sounded far ahead.
"Better turn in shore," suggested Dick.
"Who's doing this, Travers?" demanded Nat. "Never saw such scared cats, eh, Hacky?"
Pulling out his megaphone, the leader of the Nimrods continued: "Each fellow take a whoop8 through this. Here goes number one!"
An astonishingly discordant9 series of blasts rolled over the water. "Sounds like a wildcat getting hit by John Hackett," laughed Nat. "Here, Somers, let's see what kind of a yell you have. Pass it along. I'll take that wheel.
"Christopher!" he added, a few moments later; "Somers, that screech10 of yours reminds me of a circular saw cutting a board."
"He means when it hits a nail," explained John Hackett.
Bob laughed, and handed the megaphone to Tommy Clifton.
"That ought to keep 'em away," chuckled11 Nat. "A little more, and we'll have the bay to ourselves. We're the Pirates of the Bounding Deep, and can fight, awake or asleep."
"Oh, lollipops12, whatever that means," groaned13 Dick. "That floating tub is getting nearer and nearer."
The increasing loudness of the hoarse blasts which sounded at intervals14 across the water began to have an effect on Nat.
"Got a pocket compass, Somers?" he asked, hurriedly. "Guess we'll have to hike in toward the shore. Wonder how far away it is?"
No one seemed able to offer any information on the subject.
"Great Cæsar!" cried Ted7 Pollock; "listen to that screech. We can't see a yard. Hi, hi!" he yelled at the top of his voice; "hi, hi, hi!"
The others joined in, while Kirk, with the megaphone, shouted lustily.
The Clair Bay steamers were large and powerful boats, and the peril15 of their situation began to dawn upon the boys with full force. Whether the oncoming craft was on the starboard or port side could not be determined16, as the gray blanket of fog hid everything from view.
"We'll have to get out of this!" cried Nat. "Dave, exercise your lungs on that howl-increaser."
"I'll bet we are steering17 right for it," exclaimed Kirk.
"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 dense18 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.
"A little more, and they would have plunked us," remarked Ted Pollock, with a great sigh of relief. "Going ashore19, now, Nat?"
"Not before the boat reaches it," returned Wingate, who, judging from his actions, seemed to have profited but little by the recent experience. "Let her out a bit, Hacky. Legs feel weak, Somers? I'll bet they do—never saw such a scared crowd in my life."
The leader of the Nimrods glanced quickly at a map, replaced it in his pocket, then gave the wheel a turn.
"Going further out?" asked Bob, in surprise.
"Who said I was going further out?"
"You changed your course just then."
Nat laughed. "I'm afraid you're beginning to dream," he said.
"We are an awful way out," ventured Ted; "and my dad says the water in the middle of this bay is five hundred feet deep."
"Fog getting thicker and thicker," observed John Hackett. "Keep your eyes open, fellows, for any more boats."
There was no need of this admonition, but time slipped away, without bringing any further incident. Nat Wingate remained at the wheel, keeping the "Nimrod" on a perfectly20 straight course, at the same time talking and laughing in his liveliest fashion.
Suddenly Sam Randall uttered an exclamation21. "Land! As I live, land ho!" he cried.
"Land?" echoed the others, in chorus.
"Your peepers must be pretty good," exclaimed Hackett; "where? I don't see anything."
"That's because you're not looking in the right direction."
"I see it!" cried Bob.
"So do I."
"And I," repeated each, in turn.
Barely perceptible, to the left, through the fog, rose a rounded, tree-covered hill.
"I knew you changed your course, Wingate," said Bob, dryly. "Where have you been heading for?"
Turning, Nat held up the compass, then passed it back to its owner, remarking: "You fellows certainly are green. I've piloted the 'Nimrod' clear across the bay."
"A brilliant piece of navigation," observed John Hackett.
"Shut off power a bit, Kirk," said Nat; "I don't want to run on any shoals."
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