"To Morvah," explained Enid, with a syllabic emphasis meant for one pair of ears.
"It is very nice of him to struggle on and have a look at us," said Brand. "He can come close enough to see us, but that is all. Our small megaphone will be useless."
Indeed, the Lapwing dared not approach nearer than the Trinity mooring buoy. By that time the three, protected from the biting wind by oilskin coats, were standing on the gallery. The reef was bellowing up at them with a continuous roar. A couple of acres of its surface consisted of nothing more tangible than white foam and driving spray.
Stanhope, resigning the wheel to a sailor, braced himself firmly against the little vessel's foremast and began to strike a series of extraordinary attitudes with his arms and head.
"Why is he behaving in that idiotic manner?" screamed Enid.
"Capital idea—semaphore—clever fellow, Jack," shouted Brand.
Abashed, Enid held her peace.
The lighthouse-keeper, signalling in turn that he was receiving the message, spelled out the following:
"Is all well?"
"Yes," he answered.