"ANYONE awake?" enquired Mr Trematon softly, thrusting his head through the partially unlaced opening of the tent, where the eight "Otters" were lying like the spokes of a wheel, each lad's feet towards the tent-pole. "I am, sir," replied Atherton and Green. "Slip on your things and come out. I've a little job for you." Without hesitation the two lads obeyed, and were soon blinking in the early morning sun. It was just after five o'clock--réveillé was to be at half-past six. The air was keen and the dew still thick upon the short grass. The village of Polkerwyck was yet in shadow, for the sun had not risen sufficiently high to throw its slanting beams upon the deep-set hamlet. But already there were signs of activity, for several of the fishing boats that had been out all night had just returned and were landing their cargoes for conveyance to the nearest railway station. So still was the air that the reflections of the frowning cliffs and the deep browns of the tanned sails were faithfully reproduced in the placid water. The morning mist still lingered on the hill-tops, and drifted in ill-defined patches across the headlands that defined the limits of the bay. "Best part of the day, sir," said Atherton cheerfully, as he surveyed the scene of tranquillity. "It is," assented Mr Trematon. "It makes one pity the sluggards who never see the sun rise. But I want you two to come with me across the Polkerwyck. Old Varco promised he'd have an old boat's mast ready for use as a flagstaff, and I want to commence our first day on Seal Island by saluting the flag." It was now nearly high tide, and thanks to the steepness of the shore there was little difficulty in launching the smallest boat. The Scoutmaster steered, while Atherton and Green rowed. "Isn't the water clear," said Green, looking over the side. "I wish we could have a bathe." "All in good time," replied Mr Trematon. "There's a splendid bathing cove just past that point of the island, where there is hardly any current." "How do we get there, sir?" asked Atherton. "The cliffs rise straight from the sea." "There's a path leading to a cave, that in turn communicates with the sea. It used to be a favourite smugglers' haunt a century or more ago. Easy now, Green, we're nearly there." The boat's forefoot grounded on the sand; Green jumped out and secured the painter, while the Scoutmaster and the Leader stowed the oars and sprang ashore. "Here's the mast," said Mr Trematon, indicating a thirty-foot pole lying on the little stone quay. "I see Varco has rove some signal halliards--thoughtful man." "It's a lump, sir," remarked Green. "How are we to get it into the boat? It will project ten feet at each end, and we will have no end of a job to row." "I don't mean to place it in the boat. We'll tow it. Atherton, make this rope fast to that ring-bolt: we'll parbuckle the spar."