They marched on till they reached the place that the sailor from the New Hampshire had pointed out. It bore a sign in front: “The Fair Wind.”
“Humph,” thought Ned as he looked at the building, a dingy, three-storied brick structure in very bad repair. “‘The Fair Wind,’ eh? I think it’s a very bad wind that blows any foolish sailor in here.”
After his preliminary survey he turned to his detachment.
“I want you men to wait out here,” he said. “You understand?”
“But, Ned——” burst out Herc.
A look from the young commander of the picket stopped the red-headed youth’s outburst of protest. But Simpson, an elderly sailor of excellent character and long service, spoke up respectfully.
“Hadn’t you better take a couple of us along, sir?”
“No, that’s not part of my plan,” rejoined Ned. “A general entry of armed blue-jackets might be only a signal for trouble and that’s just what we want to avoid. Often an appeal to a man’s reason is more effective than force.”
“Very well, sir. We’ll hold ourselves in readiness, though.”
“I want you to do just that. If I give two sharp, short blasts on my whistle, come—and come on the jump. Otherwise, don’t move. Whatever you do, keep your heads. Remain cool, and under no circumstances draw your fire-arms. If it comes to a tussle, we’ve got our fists.”