Now, by Merriwell first helping Bart and then Bart returning the favor, they managed to get up higher out of the water, and were gratified to find that the boards were sufficiently buoyant to sustain them.
For fifteen or twenty minutes they had thus drifted on, talking and conjecturing, listening at intervals, and now and then sending up a loud call.

The fog-siren on the shore was still screeching, and the whistles of vessels were now and then heard.

But about them was that impenetrable gray wall of fog.
Having secured an easier position, Frank fumbled with his chilled fingers for his watch, which he finally drew out.

It was wet, of course, but, to his surprise, was still merrily ticking away.

By holding it near his eyes the time could be told.
"About half an hour, I judge, since the collision." "No more than that?
Seems to me it has been a half a day." Again there was silence.
"I should think a vessel would anchor, instead of trying to go on in such a fog as this!" Bart snarled.
The memory of the disaster was beginning to make him bitter against the captain.
"They do, usually.