e fog had not settled down near the
bar, vast piles of it were floating in the air. The question now was
whether the Islander had gone to the north or the south. I had given
the wheel to Hop Tossford, and I was using the glass very industriously
in all quarters of the horizon.

"Sail, ho!" shouted Buck Lingley, who had taken his station on the cap
of the foremast.

"Where away?" I shouted, sticking my head out the side window of the
pilot-house.

"Right on the starboard beam," replied Buck.

As the fog lifted a minute later I got a glimpse of the sail.

"It is the Islander!" I shouted, not a little excited. "She is going to
the southward."

"I can't understand it," said Colonel Shepard, shaking his head. "Does
Captain Blastblow mean to run away with the vessel?"

No one could tell what he meant.

CHAPTER VII.

A FOG OFF THE FLORIDA COAST.

The Sylvania was close-hauled, and I gave out the course south
south-east. This was the navigation to take the steamer around the
peninsula into the Gulf of Mexico, though we intended to put in at Key
West, in order to see the place. Washburn noted the departure on the
log slate in the pilot-house, and, as it was necessary for us to run by
our dead reckoning, the log was heaved every hour. In a short time we
were buried in the fog, and kept our steam-whistle going at the proper
intervals.

The young ladies soon deserted the pilot-house, for we were obliged to
keep the front windows open, and the air was cold and moist. Owen left
with them, and my father and Colonel Shepard soon took their places.
The owner of the Islander was still too much excited to keep still. He
tried to see through the fog; but he might as well have attempted to
look through a rocky hill.

"How far ahead do you think the Islander is now, Captain Alick?" asked
the Colonel.

"About eight miles, I should judge, unless Captain Blastblow has
succeeded in getting more speed out of the Islander than any one else
ever could," I replied at once, for I had estimated the distance
before.

"Do you really think you are gaining on her?"

"I have no doubt of it," I replied, confidently. "They hurried the
Islander down the river; and when both vessels are doing their best the
Sylvania gains about a knot an hour on the Islander. I have tried this
with her when she had a sailing-master on board who knew all about her,
and had sailed her hundreds of miles. I don't believe Captain Blastblow
can do any b