"Yes, what's to do now?" repeated Sergeant Brown. "Can you make the coast, skipper?"
"To be sure I can," replied Harris, as he looked at the compass. " But I don't know about landing. You see we might stick our nose into a sandbank before we knowed it."
"Perhaps the fog will lift?" suggested Carter.
"A fog like this isn't lifting in a hurry," said Dick. "Like as not it won't move until the sun comes up to-morrow morning," and in this guess he was right.
A half-hour went by, and from a distance came the deep note of a fog-horn, sounding apparently from up the shore.
"We ought to have a horn," said Sam. "Some big boat may come along and run us down."
"There is a horn in the cabin pantry," replied Martin Harris. "We might as well bring it out. If we are sunk one or more of us will most likely be drowned."
"Oh, don't say that!" ejaculated Carter. "I'll get the horn;" and, running below, he brought it up, and he and Sam took turns at blowing it with all the strength of their lungs.
"One thing is comforting; those rascals are no better off than we are," was Tom's comment.
"Yes; but if they founder, what will become of
