se, the ensign's sharp ears had overheard him.

"Young man," he said somewhat sternly, "if you want to be a good Boy
Scout you must learn to take hardships as they come."

"Even missing meals?" asked Tubby, in an injured voice.

"Yes, even that," repeated the young officer with a smile, which in the
Eagles' case was a perfect roar of laughter at Tubby's keen distress.
The fat boy strode off sullenly by himself, gazing at the fog as he went
in a very knowing way.

They searched the ship over for something that it would be possible to
eat; but not so much as a crumb of edible supplies did they find. In one
hold was discovered a number of barrels of "salt horse and pork," but
they were all dried up and unfit for human food. The same thing applied
to the biscuit kegs, and all the other supplies. It was out of the
question to think of touching any of them.

"Whatever are we going to do?" gasped Rob, a note of real alarm in his
voice for the first time.

The ensign's calmness served to steady all the boys a bit.

"Don't worry; everything will come out all right," he said; "we are in
the track of ships, and----"

"But in this dense fog, that fact make it all the more dangerous,"
declared Rob, and the young officer could not but answer him with a nod
in the affirmative.

"I can't help admitting that, my boy," was his further rejoinder; "all
we can do is to trust to Providence and hope that the fog will disappear
before long."

"Let's whistle for a wind," suggested Rob, who had heard of sailors
doing such a thing.

"Better than doing nothing. It will fill the time in, anyway," agreed
the ensign.

The boys squatted in a circle.

"What will we whistle?" asked Merritt.

"'Wait Till the Clouds Roll By,' of course," rejoined Rob.

As the plaintive notes came from the whistlers' puckered lips, Tubby
sauntered up, his hands in his tunic pockets.

"What are you doing?" he asked, staring at them, "gone crazy with the
heat, or what?"

"We're whistling for a wind," answered Merritt.

"Huh; why don't you whistle for grub?" demanded Tubby, turning on his
heel, and striding gloomily off once more.

CHAPTER VII.

TRAPPED BY FLAMES.

Night fell and found them still in the same plight. The fog had shut in
closer if anything. Since the last time they had caught the diminishing
sound of the _Seneca's_ siren, they had heard no sound from any vessel.
Others besides Tubby were hungry on board the _Good Hope_ that n