The Boy Scouts for Uncle Sam. Goldfrap John Henry
would be risking the vessel to cruise about in this smother," he said; "why, she'd be as likely to strike the Good Hope as not!"
Rob's face grew long, though he did his best to make light of the situation.
"Then we've got to picnic here till the fog clears off," he said.
"That's the case exactly, Rob," was the officer's rejoinder.
"But what are we going to picnic on?" inquired Tubby anxiously. "There's no food or water on board, and we haven't brought any."
"There you go again. Always thinking of that precious tummy of yours," cried Hiram. "A little starving won't hurt you."
"Huh, just because you look like a human bean pole, you don't think anyone has a right to be fat. You're jealous, that's what you are," was the indignant reply of the fat youth.
Under other conditions there might have ensued a rough and tumble battle; but just at this instant, through the fog, there came the booming sound of a vessel's whistle.
"Waugh-gh-gh-gh!"
The long bellow sounded through the white, all-enveloping mist surrounding the old hulk and its young company of castaways.
"That's the Seneca's whistle," exclaimed the ensign anxiously. "She's calling for us."
"Gee! She must know that we can't come to her," exclaimed Paul Perkins.
"I guess she's 'standing by' till the fog lifts," rejoined the officer. "We'll release the bell. That may help to locate us."
But instead of standing by, it became apparent, before long, that the Seneca was cruising about. The reason for supposing this was that the next time they heard the hoot of the siren it sounded much further off.
The boys exchanged glances.
"How long do these fogs last, as a rule?" enquired Merritt.
"Impossible to say!" was the quick reply, with an anxious look about. "If only we could get a slant of wind!"
But there was not a breath stirring. Only the Good Hope swung to the soft swells, lifting and falling with a hopeless, helpless sort of motion. In fact, an experienced seaman could have told her waterlogged condition by the very "heft and heave" of her, which was sluggish to a degree.
"Well, I suppose we must make up our minds to spend some time here," said Rob, with another attempt to treat the matter lightly. "Goodness, our adventures are surely beginning early this trip!"
The others could not help but agree with the young leader of the Eagles, although they could hardly foresee the still more thrilling experiences that lay just ahead of them.
"I would suggest," began the ensign presently, "I would suggest that we search for some trace of food."
"Humph; mouldy ship's biscuits!" grunted Tubby half under his breath. "Even if there are any on board, they must be rotten by this time. This is a fine fix! Maybe we won't get any supper at all," and the fat boy looked positively tragic over the dire prospect.
But although Tubby had spoken in a low tone, more to himself than to anybody else, the ensign's sharp ears had overheard him.
"Young man," he said somewhat sternly, "if you want to be a good Boy Scout you must learn to take hardships as they come."
"Even missing meals?" asked Tubby, in an injured voice.
"Yes, even that," repeated the young officer with a smile, which in the Eagles' case was a perfect roar of laughter at Tubby's keen distress. The fat boy strode off sullenly by himself, gazing at the fog as he went in a very knowing way.
They searched the ship over for something that it would be possible to eat; but not so much as a crumb of edible supplies did they find. In one hold was discovered a number of barrels of "salt horse and pork," but they were all dried up and unfit for human food. The same thing applied to the biscuit kegs, and all the other supplies. It was out of the question to think of touching any of them.
"Whatever are we going to do?" gasped Rob, a note of real alarm in his voice for the first time.
The ensign's calmness served to steady all the boys a bit.
"Don't worry; everything will come out all right," he said; "we are in the track of ships, and – "
"But in this dense fog, that fact make it all the more dangerous," declared Rob, and the young officer could not but answer him with a nod in the affirmative.
"I can't help admitting that, my boy," was his further rejoinder; "all we can do is to trust to Providence and hope that the fog will disappear before long."
"Let's whistle for a wind," suggested Rob, who had heard of sailors doing such a thing.
"Better than doing nothing. It will fill the time in, anyway," agreed the ensign.
The boys squatted in a circle.
"What will we whistle?" asked Merritt.
"'Wait Till the Clouds Roll By,' of course," rejoined Rob.
As the plaintive notes came from the whistlers' puckered lips, Tubby sauntered up, his hands in his tunic pockets.
"What are you doing?" he asked, staring at them, "gone crazy with the heat, or what?"
"We're whistling for a wind," answered Merritt.
"Huh; why don't you whistle for grub?" demanded Tubby, turning on his heel, and striding gloomily off once more.
CHAPTER VII.
TRAPPED BY FLAMES
Night fell and found them still in the same plight. The fog had shut in closer if anything. Since the last time they had caught the diminishing sound of the Seneca's siren, they had heard no sound from any vessel. Others besides Tubby were hungry on board the Good Hope that night. Then, too, the thought of the tragedy that had been consummated on board the derelict, and the gloom-inspiring presence of the silent figure in the forward deck house, were not calculated to inspire cheerful thoughts.
One thing they did have, and that was light. For in the course of their investigation of the old hulk they had stumbled across several old candle lanterns, the candles in which were still capable of burning. One of these lanterns was lashed to the stump of the forward mast, but the other was hung up in the cabin below. For it was in this latter place that the little party of castaways gathered and tried, by telling stories and cracking jokes, to keep their spirits in the ascendent.
But their efforts were not very successful. As the Scotch say, "It's ill jesting on an empty stomach," and that is the malady from which they all were suffering. Thirst did not as yet trouble them much, but they knew that if they were not speedily picked up by some vessel, that would also be added to their ordeal.
So the night passed away, with the castaways watching in turn for some ray of hope of the fog lifting. It was soon after midnight, and in Rob's watch, that a startling thing happened – something that brought his heart into his mouths, and set his every nerve on vibrant edge.
The boy was sitting up forward, pondering the strangeness of the day's happenings, when suddenly, right ahead of him, as it seemed, the fog was split by the hoarse shriek of a steamer's whistle.
Rob's scalp tightened from alarm as he leaped for the lantern.
"Look out!" he shouted at the top of his voice; "look out!"
But for reply there only came back out of the dense smother ahead another raucous call of the big steam whistle.
"Gracious! We'll be run down! We'll be sunk!" cried the boy, half wild with alarm.
He shouted to his companions to come on deck; but before they could obey, a huge, black bulk loomed up right above the derelict. Rob shouted at the top of his voice. It seemed as if the Good Hope would be cut in two and that the steamer was also doomed to disaster if she struck.
Through the blackness flashed a green side-light, and then came the rushing by of the great hull, with its rows of illuminated portholes. Rob stood stock still. He was fairly rooted to the spot with panic. But the big steamer raced by in the blackness and fog