Tom behaved like a good nurse; he staid by his friend till he went to sleep, and then “turned in” upon a settee beneath his berth.  The boat pitched and tumbled about so in the heavy sea that Bobby did not sleep long, and when he woke he found Tom ready to assist him.  But our hero felt better, and entreated Tom to go to sleep again.  He made the best of his unpleasant situation.  Sleep was not to be wooed, and he tried to pass away the dreary hours in thinking of Riverdale and the dear ones there.  His mother was asleep, and Annie was asleep; and that was about all the excitement he could get up even on the home question.  He could not build castles in the air, for seasickness and castle building do not agree.  The gold and purple clouds would be black in spite of him, and the aerial structure he essayed to build would pitch and tumble about, for all the world, just like a steamboat in a heavy sea.  As often as he got fairly into it, he was violently rolled out, and in a twinkling found himself in his narrow berth, awfully seasick.

He went to sleep again at last, and the long night passed away.  When he woke in the morning, he felt tolerably well, and was thankful that he had got out of that scrape.  But before he could dress himself, he heard a terrible racket on deck.  The steam whistle was shrieking, the bell was banging, and he heard the hoarse bellowing of the captain.  It was certain that something had happened, or was about to happen.

Then the boat stopped, rolling heavily in the sea.  Tom was not there; he had gone on deck.  Bobby was beginning to consider what a dreadful thing a wreck was, when Tom appeared.

“What’s the matter?” asked Bobby, with some appearance of alarm.

“Fog,” replied Tom.  “It is so thick you can cut it with a hatchet.”

“Is that all?”

“That’s enough.’

“Where are we?”

“That is just what the pilot would like to know.  They can’t see ahead a bit, and don’t know where we are.”

Bobby went on deck.  The ocean rolled beneath them, but there was nothing but fog to be seen above and around them.  The lead was heaved every few moments, and the steamer crept slowly along till it was found the water shoaled rapidly, when the captain ordered the men to let go the anchor.

There they were; the fog was as obstinate as a mule, and would not “lift.”  Hour after hour they waited, for the captain was a prudent man, and would not risk the life of those on board to save a few hours’ time.  After breakfast, the passengers began to display their uneasiness, and some of them called the captain very hard names, because he would not go on.  Almost every body grumbled, and made themselves miserable.

“Nothing to do and nothing to read,” growled a nicely-dressed gentleman, as he yawned and stretched himself to manifest his sensation of ennui.

“Nothing to read, eh?” thought Bobby.  “We will soon supply that want.”