Gates had been making observations. His chart showed a cove about ten miles north of the island area, but too shallow for the Whim. Yet ten miles farther north of that was another inlet with fairly good water. Some thought this would be the logical place to anchor, while others insisted it was too far from operations.
"We might establish an outpost in the little cove," I said, at last, "making a camp there and keeping the launch with us, while the Whim stays in the larger cove as a base to fall back on in case of necessity."
"The launch won't do," Tommy corrected. "In a quiet place like that its put-put could be heard for miles. Paddles, oars or sails for these still waters, Jack!"
He was right. Moreover, one of our small boats did have a center-board, thwart and portable mast, so that obstacle was easily crossed.
"Now," he continued, "I approve of Jack's plan, and suggest that tonight we slip into Big Cove—hereinafter to be so called—and anchor the Orchid. Then with a whole crew we'll sail down outside of Little Cove, land provisions, ammunition, and stuff like that for the scouting party. After this the Whim goes back and waits alongside the Orchid. The thing now is to decide on signals. Who knows the Morse?"
Gates answered promptly that he did; but I did not, so Tommy wrote the alphabet on a card, saying:
"You've this afternoon to memorize it, and tonight I'll drill you. It'll do between ourselves, Jack, if we get separated. But how shall we reach you, Gates? Have you any black powder for smoke balls?"
"Lor' bless you, sir, we've only what's in a few shells belonging to Miss Nancy. It would take a fair sized keg to signal that far, sir!"
I will not recount the hours I walked back and forth along the deck, with a flag in one hand and Tommy's card in the other, making what to the uninitiated would have seemed a perfectly ridiculous spectacle. But I had got quite well along, and was standing near the foremast wig-wagging a message to an imaginary pair of violet eyes—for man can be silly and serious at one and the same time—when a little puff of hot air struck my face. It was the second puff of this kind I had noticed. Gates now came up and joined me.
"There's a howl of something coming, sir," he said. "I've had suspicions of it all day, but now the barometer's touched bottom."