"The mist is coming up worse than ever, boys," observed Bob Somers, as he sat on the forward part of the "Nimrod"; "think you had better hug the shore, Nat."
"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 automobile again," laughed Hackett.
"That's it!" exclaimed Nat, with a grin. "Hi, Dave, are you wide awake enough to wrestle 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 wharf, early that morning, a mist hung over the bay. The sun shone like a great, yellowish ball through the masses of vapor. 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.
Hoarse 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," grumbled 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 whoop through this. Here goes number one!"
An astonishingly discordant 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 screech 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," chuckled 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, lollipops, whatever that means," groaned Dick. "That floating tub is getting nearer and nearer."
The increasing loudness of the hoarse blasts which sounded at intervals 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 Ted 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 peril 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 determined, 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 steering 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 dense 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 ashore, 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 perfectly straight course, at the same time talking and laughing in his liveliest fashion.
Suddenly Sam Randall uttered an exclamation. "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."
Talbot obeyed, and the motor boat progressed slowly toward the shore. Finally the boys saw that a sort of flat expanse extended back from the water, but the fog prevented them from gaining a definite idea as to the formation of the land.
"There seems to be a pretty good channel here," observed Dave.
"That's the reason I'm cruising along a bit," returned Nat, quickly.
The "Nimrod" skirted the shore for fully half a mile, then rounded a jutting point.
"No use, fellows, we'll have to anchor and wade ashore," said Nat finally; "I can't take the boat in any further."
Accordingly, the boys took off their shoes and stockings and rolled up their trousers. Nat cast the anchor overboard, then, each taking some needful article, they waded ashore.
"We'll have a swim here this afternoon," proclaimed Nat; "bet I can beat any fellow in the crowd."
"I'll take you up on that," said Hackett. "My eye, this fog is a nuisance."
By making several trips, the boys carried ashore all that was necessary. The tent canvas and poles required the combined effort of both clubs.
"I guess you fellows will have to do the 'Bill Agnew' act," said Nat. "Little oil-stove's good enough for me."
"You're only parlor campers," drawled Dave; "we go in for the real thing."
By this time the fog had begun to lighten. Clumps of vegetation were scattered around, while several pools could be dimly seen, close at hand.
"Gee willikins, regular Robinson Crusoe life, this," exclaimed Nat. "Eh, Chubby?"
Dave smiled, then slapped his hand to his face. "Skeeters," he announced; "and plenty of 'em."
"Aren't they fierce?" said John Hackett. "Here's the sun coming out nicely, and we have to fall into a regular bug metropolis."
"Darning-needles and butterflies!" exclaimed Kirk Talbot. "Look at this one! It's nearly as big as the bird that 'Hatchet' shot."
Bob, Sam and Dick soon went off in search of wood, while Tom Clifton and the poet laureate got everything in readiness to cook. The Nimrods pitched their tents, and also began preparations for lunch. In the course of an hour the meals were ready.
"What's on the bill of fare?" asked Bob.
"Sardines, baked beans, crackers and cheese, sir," sang out Dave. "Have tea or coffee, sir?"
"Quit your fooling, and trot out the stuff," put in Dick; "I haven't had a bite for three solid hours."
"Cricky! a nice place, this," observed Tom Clifton, with his mouth full, a few minutes later. "Let's explore those hills back there after lunch, fellows."
"Hello, how are you getting on, 'pirates'?" shouted Bob.
"Great!" answered Nat. "Got any skeeters over your way?"
"Any number," grumbled Dave; "had forty-seven bites already."
The afternoon was spent in roaming around. The Ramblers found a tumble-down shanty, evidently built by gunners, and they determined to take possession of it. The fog had entirely cleared away and the sun occasionally peeped forth between gaps in the masses of whitish clouds. Shadows chased each other over the landscape in rapid succession, trees, now bright with color and light suddenly changed to dark green masses, then all became gray and sombre until another rift in the clouds let through the flood of light.
Along the bay, a flat, marshy expanse seemed to extend for miles, its surface being dotted with ponds.
"That's where those six-legged little pests come from," declared Dave; "they breed in the swampy tracts. Fellows, it's a good thing we are going to camp in the hills to-night."
"We'd be eaten alive down there by the shore," agreed Bob; then he added: "Let's go and get our stuff now."
As they approached the Trailers' tents, loud voices were heard.
"Fifteen feet, you say? That's the biggest I ever listened to. It wasn't an inch more than five," came from Nat.
"I said fifteen, and I'll bet it was nearer twenty," shouted John Hackett; "ain't that so, Kirk?"
"You'll have to grow some, to beat me any day in the week," yelled the leader; "you didn't give me a fair start."
"Playing the baby act. Very well, I'll swim you again to-morrow," sneered Hackett.
"I'll do it," cried Nat. "Crickets, but you're going to get beaten. Hello, Somers, got back already?"
"We are going to take our stuff up on the hill," explained Bob.
"You won't sleep a wink down here," added Dave; "the mosquitoes are fearful."
"That's so," agreed Nat; "I've killed about two million already. Will you fellows help us take up the canvas?"
"Sure thing," answered Bob. "Aren't you afraid to leave your boat, though?"
Nat glanced at the trim little "Nimrod," then answered: "Don't think there's any danger. The fellow who blew up the 'Rambler' most likely thought it was ours."
"That's right, we had everybody scared," added John Hackett, and the recollection made the ill-natured expression leave his face.
Nat burst out laughing. "Pull up stakes!" he cried, loudly. "Here we go."
"Whew, ouch! Never saw such biters," exclaimed Ted Pollock, slapping frantically at the little buzzing pests around his face. "Come on, fellows, let's vamoose."
"Big rocks and pine trees! Right you are," observed Kirk scratching his wrist. "Say, Nat, why can't we sleep on the 'Nimrod' to-night?"
"It's up in the hills for us. Don't you get enough boat all day long?"
"But these tents?" objected Kirk.
"Got to go up, too," replied Nat, laconically. "Get a gait on. Found a good place, Somers?"
"Yes! on the top of that hill."
"All right. Grab some of the stuff, fellows. We'll leave the tents until last."
It was nearly six o'clock before the new camp was finally put in order. The boys found the mosquitoes much fewer in number, and their surroundings in every way better than on the shore below.
"It's a pretty wide bay," observed the poet laureate; "can't see a sign of land. How small the 'Nimrod' looks."
"It ain't as big as the 'Lusitania,' that's sure," commented Nat. "Fall to, fellows. It's grub time."
When night came on, Bob added a few logs to the smouldering fire, while the Nimrods hung a number of lanterns upon convenient branches. The Ramblers merely spread their blankets upon the floor of the shanty, and turned in.