“Who’s going to be cook this next watch?” asked Arnold.

“It’s my work, by the schedule,” replied Jack, “but if you lads will excuse me now, I’ll do double duty later on.  I hate to leave the deck even for a few minutes.  I don’t feel at all easy!”

“Why, what can make you uneasy?” put in Harry.

“I don’t know,” Jack answered.  “I suppose it’s only a notion due to indigestion after eating some of Tom’s cookery, but I have a sort of uneasy feeling that something is going to happen and I want to be on deck when it comes.  That’s all!”

“Well, I’m about starved and so if this portentous calamity will please postpone its arrival until I get my lunch, I’ll be much obliged!” remarked Arnold.  “I’ll go get dinner.  I follow Jack on the cooking schedule.  What’ll it be, gentlemen?”

“More of that fine Red Snapper!” quickly answered Harry.

“If you boys can wait long enough, I’d like some of those famous biscuits Arnold knows so well how to make,” added Tom.

“And I,” said Jack, “would like a double portion of both of those and a cup of that excellent coffee we bought at Mobile.”

“Wee, Mong Sewers!  Zee Chef departs!” announced Arnold disappearing down the stairs leading to the cabin from whence in a short time the aroma of delicious coffee was wafted up to the three boys in the pilot house, each striving to peer farther into the fog which seemed to be getting thicker each passing moment.

“Seems to me I hear the booming of the surf on a jagged and rock bound coast,” remarked Harry after an interval of silence following the wail of the Klaxon fog signal being sounded at regular intervals.

“Harry, you ought to be serious once in a while!” admonished Jack.  “There are no rocks down in this part of the world.  Everything is sand and lots of it.  Besides the real coast is over here to our starboard hand side.  You can’t hear any surf there!”

“Maybe so, but I can hear what I believe to be the pounding of waves on a shore, just the same!” stoutly insisted Harry.

“Listen a minute,” exclaimed Tom raising a hand for silence.

“There!” cried Harry after an interval.  “There it is again!”

“Jack,” Tom asked turning to his chum, “can you get it?”

With his face a trifle paler than was his wont, Jack nodded his head and with his lips closed tightly peered into the fog.

“Great Wigglin’ Pollywogs!” ejaculated Tom.  “If we’re into a surf the Fortuna had better give up now!  We can’t ever expect to get out of that sort of a mess with this little rabbit!”

“Two times heavy on the dish washing for Thomas!” gloated Harry.  “But we’re not into the surf yet a while!  Listen!”

His hand was held up again for silence.  From the cabin came the sound of the clock striking the hour in nautical fashion.

“Five bells!” announced Jack.

“Let’s see,” mused Harry.  “I never can get used to that.”