But they were evidently
floating farther out to sea, for the sounds of the siren were fainter
and farther away.
"I believe the fog is going to lighten."
Merriwell lifted himself and strained his eyes through the gloom. A
suggestion of a breeze had fanned him.
"If the wind gets up, the fog may be driven away," he said.
"And the wind will kick up a sea!" suggested Bart.
"But if the fog lifts, we will probably be seen by some vessel!"
There could be no doubt that a gentle breeze was beginning to blow.
"Sure enough, the fog is thinning!" Bart cried joyfully. "But I don't
hear any more whistles."
"Hark! there one sounded."
"Miles away!"
"Wait till the fog rises. Perhaps there are others."
Anxiously they watched the gray wall. The wind died away, and once or
twice it seemed that the fog was growing denser, instead of lightening.
But by and by the sunlight seemed to permeate it. It appeared to become
thinner. Then, like a great curtain uplifted, it for a little while
swung upward from the face of the heaving sea. All around were the green
rollers, rising and falling with an oily swell.
Hodge uttered an exclamation of gratification.
"Look!"
Merriwell looked in the direction indicated. Not a fourth of a mile away
a dingy fishing-sloop was bobbing along, with her dirty mainsail and jib
set, yet seeming to catch no breeze.
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