“Fog’s thickenin’,” observed the captain squinting seaward.

As he remarked, the mist was indeed increasing in density, shrouding the surroundings of the camp completely and covering the trees and bushes with condensed moisture, which dripped in a slow, melancholy sort of way from their limbs.

“Bad weather for ships,” observed Merritt.

“Yer may well say that, my lad, and this is a powerful bad part uv the coast ter be navigatin’ on in a fog.  I’ve heard it said that there’s a lot uv iron in the Long Island shoals and that this deflects the compasses uv ships that stay too near in shore in a fog.  I don’t know how that maybe, I don’t place a lot uv stock in it myself, but I do know that steamers and vessels uv al kinds go ashore here more than seems ter be natural.”

As he finished speaking there came, the fog a sound that fitted in so well with subject of his conversation that it almost an accompaniment to it.

“Who-oo-oo-oo!”

“A steamer’s siren,” exclaimed Rob.

“That’s what it is, lad,” assented the old sailor, as the sound came again, booming through the fog with a melancholy cadence.

“Who-o-o-o-o-o!” roared the siren once more.

“I’ll bet the feller who’s on the bridge uv that ship is havin’ his own troubles just about now,” remarked the captain, “hark at that!”

The whistle was now roaring like a wounded bull, sending distinct vibrations of sound through the increasing fog billows.

“Thick as pea soup,” commented the captain, refilling his pipe, “reckon I’ll have ter stay here till she lifts a bit.  Wind’s hauled to the sou’west too.  Bad quarter means more fog and smother.”

“Who-o-o-o-o!” boomed the siren of the hidden vessel once more, and this time it was answered by another whistle somewhere further off in the fog.

“Two uv ’em now.  Stand by fer a collision,” shouted the captain, while the scouts, intensely interested in the development of this hidden drama of the fog, clustered about him.

“Who-o-o-o-o!  Who-o-o-o-o!  Who-o-o-o-o!” came the nearest siren.

“She’s standin’ in shore,” shouted the captain, “boys, she’s in grave danger.”

“What’s she coming in for?” asked Merritt.

“I suppose her skipper thinks he’s got plenty uv water under his keel and wants ter give a wide berth ter the other vessel,” explained the captain.  “Boys, if only we had a big bell or a steam whistle we could warn them poor fellows uv their peril.”

“It does seem hard to hear them blundering in and not be able to warn them,” agreed Rob, “there should have been a lighthouse put on these shoals long ago.”

“Right yer are, boy, but the government is a slow movin’ vessel and hard ter get under way.”

The boys had to laugh at this odd way of expressing the difficulty of getting new lights erected, but they knew as well almost as their companion the dangers of the ocean off this part of Long Island.