"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." "The sky's clear," I suggested. He laughed, though without humor. "A sky isn't always clear because there're no clouds in it, Mr. Jack." "But what do you expect, Gates? We don't have storms at this season!" "You're right, sir. But once in a long while there'll be a howler, and that's what the barometer is trying to tell us now. As we have only harf a crew on each yacht I think we'd better make a bee-line in. 'Twill take us twenty miles north of where we were, and those fellows carn't see us." I never disputed conditions of weather with Gates, so the course was changed and we started on our run to land, which he thought might be reached by dark. In this he was right, for as the sun, like a strangely weird greenish ball, touched the horizon our prow, leading the _Orchid_ by half a mile, entered the protecting waters of Big Cove. Just at this moment Bilkins dashed up from the cabin, looking scared and yelling: "He won't stay quiet, sirs; I can't make him!" We would have thought a delirium had seized the big black had not he then appeared from the same doorway, regarding us with an air of rationality. I have never seen a smile more broad, or more expressive of relief. It simply radiated happiness, and Tommy, staring at him, began to hum a song that had cheered us many a time in the trenches. "By Jingo, Tommy," I cried, "we'll name him that!"