Yesterday they had sailed into Cape Cod Bay – the shallow lake held in the crook of Cape Cod's arm – to ride out the tail end of that northeast gale, and to make certain repairs, and get the ship more winter-ready than it had been. But then the wind shifted round to the north and threatened to drive them against the sand-banks at the southern fringe of said Bay, and so they sailed toward the sunset, and maneuvered the big ship with exquisite care between rocks to starboard and sunken islands to port, and thus entered Plymouth Bay. As night fell they dropped anchor in an inlet, well sheltered from the weather, and (as Daniel supposed) prepared to tarry there for a few days and await more auspicious weather. But van Hoek was obviously nervous – he doubled the watch, and put men to work cleaning and oiling the ship's surprisingly comprehensive arsenal of small firearms.