A little over an hour later the lookout forward reported the Sandy Hook Light-ship close to the starboard bow.
[Illustration: HE ORDERED THE VESSEL STOPPED AND LET GO THE ANCHOR.]
"Hard a starboard!" said the Captain; and as the ship swung round and the light-ship faded away into the mist again, he ordered the vessel to be stopped and let go the anchor. The fog-whistle ceased to blow, and the bell took its place as a warning. The Captain went down off the bridge, and made his appearance at the luncheon-table.
"Captain Argo," said an impatient old lady, "I'd like to know why we are anchored here in a fog out in the middle of the ocean. I've paid to be taken to New York, and I don't wish to stop here."
"My dear madam," replied the Captain, "up on the coast of Maine the steamboat captains run in fogs from point to point among the islands by timing their craft and then listening for the echo of the whistle from the rocks. And there was once a schooner captain who went from Cape Ann to Quarantine in New York Bay in a fog without seeing a single thing, steering from one whistling-buoy or fog-horn to another. Now I'm only a plain sea navigator, and having brought my ship safely from the other side of the Grand Banks to this side of Sandy Hook Light-ship with only one observation, feeling my way the rest of the time with the lead, I'm satisfied now to come to anchor, wait till the fog lifts, and then let a pilot see whether he can get me up the Lower Bay in clear weather without running me aground."
As soon as Reginald had recovered sufficiently from his astonishment to be able to speak, he exclaimed, "But you didn't have any bait!"
"The button on the end of the top-cord was the bait," said the Slambangaree, as it watched the fish swimming about in the air.
"What kind of a fish is that?" asked Reginald.
"That," replied the Slambangaree, "is a Capecodger. Did you ever hear a fish sing a song in notes of candy?"
Then the Slambangaree turned to the Capecodger, and said, in a tone of authority,
The fish opened its mouth very wide and sang:
"As I'm a fish of good sound sense, Permit me, sir, to say It is a strange experience To swim around this way. I much prefer the coral caves Beneath the bounding sea, And to disport upon its waves, And wriggle in my glee. That bureau there is not a rock, This air is not the brine. Oh, grind me up in yonder clock For fishballs sweet and fine, But do not keep me swimming here All day, and thirsty, too, Or I shall have to shed a tear, And that would never do!"