"Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta! Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta! Ta-ra-ta-rata! Ta-ra-ta-a-a!"

Andy's bugle briskly announced the last morning of the Boy Scouts' camp on Topsail Island. Already the first breath of autumn had begun to tint the leaves of the earlier fading trees, and the chill of the early dawn was noticeable.

During their stay in camp the lads had profited in every way. The scout program as sent out for camps by headquarters had been gone, through with some modifications, and Sim Jeffords had qualified as a first-cla.s.s scout while Martin Green, Walter Lonsdale and Joe Digby, once more as merry as ever, were all fitted for their second-cla.s.s scout diplomas. The prospect of another patrol in Hampton had been discussed and the outlook for one seemed favorable.

As the last notes of Andy's call--to turn to the subject of the opening of this chapter--rang out the tousle-headed, sleepy-eyed scouts appeared from their tents and found themselves enveloped in a fleecy mist--such a light fog as is common on that part of the Atlantic coast at this season of the year.

"Pretty thick!" was Rob's comment as he doused his face in his tin basin.

"Hull-o-o-o!" suddenly hailed a voice from the water, "got any breakfast fer an old shipmate?"

Through the fog the boys could make out the dim outline of the captain's motor boat even if it's apoplectic cough had not already told them it was there.

"Sure, come ash.o.r.e," hailed Merritt.

A few moments later the hearty old seaman was sitting down with the lads and performing miracles of eating.

"It's a good thing we haven't all got your capacity," remarked Rob, laughing, "or that provision tent wouldn't have held out very long."

"Wall, boys," observed the captain, drawing out a black pipe and ramming some equally black tobacco into it with a h.o.r.n.y thumb, "a full hold makes fair sailin', that's my motto and 'Be Prepared' is yers. A man can be no better prepared than with a good meal under his belt.

Give me a well-fed crew and I'll navigate a raft to Hindustan, but a pack uv slab-sided lime juicers couldn't work a full-rigged ship uv the finest from here to Ban-gor."

Having delivered himself of this bit of philosophy, the captain pa.s.sed on to another subject.

"Hear'n anything uv them varmints what slipped their moorings on the train?" he asked.

"We heard that they had gone West," rejoined Merritt, "but to just what part I don't know."

"That thar Sam Reddin' boy clar'd himself uv all suspicion, did he?"

went on the old man.

"Yes, after he had admitted that Jack Curtiss and Bill Bender and himself stole our uniforms and robbed you--"

"Consarn him," interrupted the captain.

"You needn't grumble, his father paid you back all that was taken,"

observed Merritt.

"That don't lessen the crime," grunted the captain, "heave ahead with yer yarn, my boy; yer was sayin' that that Reddin' boy admitted everythin'."

"Well," continued Rob, "in consideration of his confession, it was agreed not to prosecute him and he seems to be a reformed character.

He absolutely denied, though, having had anything to do with the kidnapping of Joe Digby here, and I believe he is telling the truth."

"The truth ain't in any uv them fellers, that's my belief," snorted the captain, "and if ever I get my hands on that thar Jack Curtiss or Bill Bender I'll lay onto 'em with a rope's end."

"Oh, we'll never see them again," laughed Rob.

It may be said here, however, that in this he was very much mistaken.

Rob and his friends did meet the bully again and under strange circ.u.mstances, in scenes far removed from the peaceful surroundings of Hampton.

"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 compa.s.ses uv ships that stay too near in sh.o.r.e 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 ash.o.r.e 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," a.s.sented 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, cl.u.s.tered 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 sh.o.r.e," 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.

The whistle boomed out its wailing note again.

"Closer and closer," lamented the captain, "what's the matter with those lubbers? Yer'd think they'd have a leadsman out."

All at once the catastrophe for which they had been more or less prepared happened. So quickly did it come that they had not time to speak.