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Updated: June 2, 2025
Not a light from the village below pierced the mist, and the lonely army of tall cedars on the black hill back of the house was hidden completely. "Who's there?" Mrs. Brenner hailed. But her voice fell flat and muffled. Far off on the beach she could dimly hear the long wail of a fog-horn. The faint throb of hope stilled in her breast.
Kow clinked dishes somewhere in a faraway kitchen, and the fog-horn boomed and was still-boomed and was still. But here on the porch there was no sound. "Cherry, tell me that you care for me a little?"
Even while he bent reverently over the unlucky Chilean's body, the deafening vibration of the fog-horn ceased, and he heard Elsie's glad cry from the saloon: "Oh my, here comes Joey! That means that Captain Courtenay has left the bridge."
We gave her a good round of applause when she had finished, and the fog-horn joined in and drowned us. It was the queerest concert experience I ever had. But we all enjoyed it. Only we didn't enjoy that noise keeping right on until five o'clock next morning."
Every one; his father, his brother, the dead man, his mother! He hurried off homeward. What was he going to do? As he passed a turret close to the signal mast the strident howl of the fog-horn went off in his very face. He was so startled that he nearly fell and shrank back as far as the granite parapet. He sat down half-stunned by the sudden shock.
Far off oceanward, the fog-horn was lowing like a lost gigantic bull. The gray bulk of a policeman the light from the street lamp reflected in his star loomed up on the corner as they descended from the car. Condy had intended to call his diver's story "A Submarine Romance," but Blix had disapproved. "It's too 'Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea," she had said.
"Grab him!" said Coombes, and he kicked open the door and entered the saloon, followed by Inspector White and the boat's crew. As they appeared, the Inspector conspicuous in his uniform, backed by the group of River Police, one of whom grasped George Martin by his coat collar: "Splits!" bellowed Dougal in a voice like a fog-horn.
I don't care for this new-fangled taste for weak tea dish-water, I call it only fit for the jaded digestions of worn-out worldly women." "Who owns this fog-horn?" my kinsman whispered. "Will it come out shooting to-morrow? The game-book record will be considerably lower if so!" "It won't shoot; it will only lunch," I whispered back. Somehow, my spirits had risen.
A big four-by-five blackboard hung in the cabin, and Harvey never understood the need of it till, after some blinding thick days, they heard the unmelodious tooting of a foot-power fog-horn a machine whose note is as that of a consumptive elephant. They were making a short berth, towing the anchor under their foot to save trouble. "Square-rigger bellowin' fer his latitude," said Long Jack.
"That was on the hill," said Mrs. Brenner slowly, steadying her voice. She put her calloused hand against her lips and stood listening with agonized intentness. But now the heavy, foggy silence had fallen again. At intervals came the long, faint wail of the fog-horn. There was no other sound. Even the old woman in the shadowy corner had ceased her mouthing. Mrs.
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