This stealthy enemy is ever lying in wait for the fisherman, and generally surprises him when he is least prepared for its coming. It swoops down and envelops him in its blinding folds when he is out in his dory, and when it again lifts, as though to mock him, he finds himself alone on the vast waters, with no vessel in sight. It steals his gear, and sends his craft drifting aimlessly hither and thither. Above all, it leads swift-rushing steamers to where the fishing schooners lie, and causes the great ships to spring upon them and crush them down beneath iron prows, never to rise again. The fog is terrible; but whether it comes or whether it goes, the fish must be caught, for wives and children must be fed. So the dories go out from the vessels, and if they never return there are others to take their places. So accustomed does he become to its presence that the fisherman hardly gives the fog a thought, until in his turn it swallows him up, and he disappears forever. The _Vixen_ was now beset by a fog, sometimes so dense that it settled down upon the water like a pall. Again it would lift, so that her crew were able to set and haul their trawls, with some hope of finding their vessel when the task was finished. It was dull, dispiriting work, and in the midst of it an amusing incident, of which Breeze McCloud was the hero, was hailed with delight by his shipmates. One night they were lying at anchor. The fog had lifted to such an extent that it was not thought necessary to keep the fog-horn constantly blowing. About midnight Breeze was turned out of his bunk to go on watch. He had hardly reached the deck, and was still rubbing his eyes, when suddenly he caught sight of a dim light. It rose from the mist at about the height of a steamer’s mast-head light, and was apparently bearing directly down upon them amidships. He made one spring for the companion-way and another into the cabin, yelling at the top of his voice, “Turn out all hands! Steamer close aboard!” and snatching up the fog-horn, he again rushed on deck, blowing it furiously as he went, and followed by the startled crew. Breeze did not even glance at the dreaded light again, so intent was he upon getting all the sound he could from his fog-horn; but all at once such a roar of laughter burst forth behind him that he dropped the horn and turned indignantly to learn what it meant. “Blow, sonny, blow!” cried one of the men between his shouts of merriment. “You’ll have to do better than that to make the man in the moon hear you.” Then poor Breeze realized that what he had mistaken for a steamer’s light was indeed the dim and watery moon struggling to show itself through the upper edge of a fog-bank. There was nothing for him to say or do, except to bear as meekly as possible the jokes of his companions and the bursts of laughter with which they greeted him whenever they met him the next day. [Illustration: “BLOW, SONNY, BLOW!” CRIED ONE OF THE MEN.]